


Gravity Falls Relativity Falls SEASON TWO

by redwoodroots



Series: Gravity Falls Relativity Falls [2]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Boss Stan, Bud Rises, Cash Wheel, Costumes, Crystals, Dreamscapers, Fee Fi Fo Ford, Fluff, Girlz Crazy, Gremloblin - Freeform, Mild references to child abuse, Mystery Trio, Nightmares, Shrinking, Sixer, Stangst, Starla - Freeform, Summerween, The Deep End, The Land That Time For-Goat, Tiny Ford and Tiny Stan Are So Cute, bottomless pit, carpet diem, fortune teller, some ptsd happening here, squash with a human face and emotions - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-03-15 12:44:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 121,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13613634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redwoodroots/pseuds/redwoodroots
Summary: I know I normally update on Fridays but GOSH DANG IT I AM SO EXCITED ABOUT THIS SO HERE HAVE IT A DAY EARLY!  Hope you like it ^,^





	1. Fee Fi Fo Ford

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I normally update on Fridays but GOSH DANG IT I AM SO EXCITED ABOUT THIS SO HERE HAVE IT A DAY EARLY! Hope you like it ^,^

Stanford, Stanley, and Grauntie Mabel were hanging out in the living room, watching TV. Grauntie Mabel was sitting in her yellow armchair, Stanford was sitting on the chair's back, and Stanley was slumped upside-down against the Tyranosaurus coffee table. (Ford had yet to determine if the coffee table was an actual skull, but his Amateur Archaeologist testing kit was in the mail.) 

The doorbell rang. 

“If that's my next tour, they're about one episode of Ducktective too early,” Mabel grumbled, but she went to answer the door. Ford watched from the living room. “Welcome to a world of mystery!” she sang. 

It wasn't a tour. There was a man in a dark blue suit and polished shoes at the door. He narrowed his eyes. “Mabel Pines?” 

She yelped. “Oh, no, not the tax collector!” 

She threw a purple glitter-bomb on the floor and raced back into the living room. She grabbed the art panel hanging over the chair and ripped it off the wall, revealing a small hidden compartment. She reached inside and grabbed a duffel bag full of cash. 

“Whoa!” Stanley said, his eyes bugging out. 

She frantically patting the fake stones in the wall. “Gah, which one of these is the trap door?!” 

“Ms. Pines.” 

She jumped. Ford turned to look. The blue-suited guy was stepping into the Shack. “I'm from the Winning House Coupon Saver's Contest. And _you_ are our _biiiiiig winner!_ ” He threw his arms wide and a camera guy hustled inside, followed by two women in evening dresses carrying a check the size of a dining room table. 

“WHOOOOAAA!” Stanley repeated. 

“Eh, what? Really?” A slow smile lit Mabel's face. “I actually _won_ something?!” 

One of the check ladies threw a handful of golden glitter in her face, and Mabel actually laughed out loud. 

Ford scrambled off the chair. “We're rich?” he asked excitedly. “I'm gonna get a science lab!” 

“I'm gonna buy my own race track!” Stanley shouted. 

The suit guy held out a paper and pen to Mabel. “Just sign here for the money,” he said. 

“You _bet!_ ” 

She scrawled a quick signature. 

Suddenly Gideon Gleeful jumped straight through the giant check, ripping it in half. 

“HA!” he shouted. “Mabel, you fool!” 

Ford blinked. “...How did you even fit his hair behind the check?”

Mabel's face darkened into a fierce scowl. “Gideon, I told you to stay off my property!” 

“It's _mah_ property, now!” Gideon said gleefully. He snatched the paper she had signed from the suit guy and waved it in her face. “You just signed over the Mystery Shack to li'l old me!” 

Ford gasped and Stanley grabbed his arm. 

But Mabel didn't even look upset. She folded her arms and smiled. “Better check the signature there, Gleeful.” 

He turned the paper around and started reading, a malicious grin on his face. “'The Mystery Shack is hereby signed over to – _suck a lemon, Gleeful'?!_ '” 

Ford and Stanley burst out laughing. 

Gideon shredded it into confetti, spitting mad. “How _dare_ you!” 

“Better luck next time, Gleeful. Now _scram_.” 

Gideon's face turned positively purple with rage. “I'll get you for this, Mabel Pines,” he hissed. “Come on!” The ladies and the suit guy scurried behind him. Mabel, Ford, and Stanley followed him to the door, watching until they'd left the property. 

“Huh,” said Stanley. “You know, I'm sensing that he might have some anger issues.” 

Mabel shrugged. “You guys wanna go watch some more TV?” 

“Yeah, sure, okay,” Ford said. 

Stanley nodded. “Definitely. My favorite part's the theme song.” 

 

“ _That WOMAN!_ ” 

Bud didn't even look up. He was sitting in his dressing room, repeatedly ramming a remote-control truck into a picture of Stanford Pines. He could hear his father ranting through the thin walls. 

“This is the fifth time, the _fifth time_ another tour bus has rerouted from the Tent to the Shack! After all the money I spent promoting that new hairstyle –”

There was a series of angry thumps and the dressing room door slammed open. “BUD!” Gideon roared. “New game plan. We need a way to suck all the business away from that Pines woman. A father-son act could do the trick – and puppies! Those knuckle-dragging moneybags are suckers for a cute kid and a basket of puppies –”

Bud listened to his father rant for a while. He knew perfectly well how their last father-son act had turned out. And he was hardly in the mood to deal with it. 

He interrupted his father mid-word. “We're already competing with her and we're losing. Why not just make it so no one wants to go there in the first place?” he said. 

His father stared at him. “What're you talkin' about, boy?” 

“Nobody wants to come _here_ , because they all want to go _there_ ,” Bud said slowly. “But if they don't _want_ to go there, we won't have competition. Just make the Shack the worst possible place to be. The tourists' word of mouth will do the rest.” 

A slow smile spread over Gideon's face. “Boy, sometimes you make me proud.” He bent down and patted Bud's cheek. “You keep playin' with your cars, now. Your dear ol' daddy has some plannin' to do. Make sure you put yourself to bed on time, you hear? Your good looks are the only thing keepin' this Tent afloat.” 

“Yes, father.” 

He waited until his father left. Then he replaced the smashed image of Stanford with another one (he'd printed out a stack of two hundred which he kept under his bed). So far, he'd burned, ripped, shredded, and bleached seventy-three pictures into unrecognizable pulp. He put the next one in the path of the truck. He had the picture suspended by the corners so the truck could drive right through Ford's teeth. This was his favorite way to destroy the pictures, because playing with cars reminded him of Stanley. 

He revved up the truck. He realized he was humming to himself. When his father finally succeeded in putting the Mystery Shack out of business, the Pines woman and the twins would have nowhere to go. Stanley would have no choice but to join Bud, working at the Tent during the day and hanging out as best friends at night. It sure got lonely in here sometimes, but Stanley would make things so lively. 

He smiled and drove the truck through Ford's face. 

 

There weren't any tours scheduled, so Ford had set up a chess board in the Gift Shop and was playing chess with Stanley. Ria was restocking the inventory. She'd found a weird-looking turtle skeleton they had used to put the board on, and they were using a couple of stumps Manly Dan had chopped up as stools. 

Ford sat cross-legged on his seat, staring at the board in annoyance. He was trying to be patient, but Stanley didn't seem to be taking the game seriously at all. 

“Little guy to this black square right here,” Stan said proudly, putting a pawn on E7. 

Ford groaned. “It's a pawn, that's not your color, and stop stealing the tiny horses! Where are you even putting them?” 

Stanley grinned and rolled up his shirt. A bunch of little plastic knights fell out of an inside pocket. “Tada! Grauntie Mabel taught me how to sew hidden pockets so the stitches wouldn't show.” He leaned forward, whispering excitedly, “I could _literally rob a bank right now_ and no one would find the evidence!” 

Ford moved his queen and knocked over Stan's king. “Aaaand checkmate!” 

“What? Boo!”

Ford grinned and took out his notebook. He'd been keeping score of who won. “That makes it Stanford: 51, Stanley: 0!” 

Stan sighed. “Let's play something else.” 

“Excuse me, Stan,” Ria said, and they turned. She was standing on a step stool, rearranging a shelf full of Ms. Mystery bobbleheads. She pointed to the shelf above the cash register. There were two brain-filled jars, one with a cowboy hat and one with a blond wig. “Could you pass me the brain in the jar, por favor? The lady one?”

“I got it,” Ford said, standing. But Ria held up a hand. 

“Thank you, but Stan is taller,” she explained. 

He frowned. “What? No he's not. We're the same height, we've always been.” 

Stanley stood up, too, and Ria looked at them thoughtfully. “I think you had better check again, chiquito.” 

She hopped off the step stool and turned them so that Ford and Stan were back-to-back. Then she took out her tape measure and measured Stanley, then Stanford. She stood back and nodded. 

“Si. Stanley is exactly one millimeter taller.” 

“ _What?_ ” 

“Whoa!” Stanley turned around, grinning. “Don't you see what's happening, Ford? This millimeter is just the beginning. I'm evolving into the superior sibling! Bigger! Stronger!” 

“Like a miniature Godzilla,” Ford said drily. 

“Like some kinda alpha twin!” Stan pumped his fists in the air and started chanting. “ _Al-pha twin! Al-pha twin!_ ” 

Ford scoffed. “C'mon, Stan, nobody even uses millimeters. It only makes you taller than me in Canada. Right, Ria?” 

Stanley put his elbow on Ford's shoulder and leaned on him like he was an armrest. “Y'know, Sixer, I always wanted a little brother. Who knew I already had one?” He laughed. Ford shrugged away. 

Grauntie Mabel walked into the room in her nightgown, rubbing her eyes. “I was awoken by the sound of laughter. What is it? What horribly punny joke did I miss?” 

“I'm taller than Stanford!” Stanley announced. 

“By _one millimeter._ ” 

“Hey hey,” she said, “Don't get... _short_ with your brother!” 

Stanley looked serious. “Now, Grauntie Mabel, I hope you don't think... _little_ of him!” 

She laughed loudly. “Yeah! Don't worry. People like Ford are in... _short_ supply!” 

“Haha!” Stan barked. “And, uh, he's short!” 

Ford stuffed his hands in his pockets. 

Ria was starting to look anxious. “Maybe you should lay off a tiny bit.” 

Stanley laughed again. “'Tiny'! Ria's in on it now!” 

“No, no, I simply meant –”

“Forget it.” Ford walked out of the room. He could hear Ria trying to talk them down, but a second later both Stanley and Mabel shouted “ _SHORT-TERM MEMORY!_ ” 

He only needed one guess to figure out the butt of _that_ joke. 

Ford stomped up to the attic and started pacing around the spare bedroom. In the past few weeks, Grauntie Mabel had filled it up with a bunch of loose junk she couldn't store anywhere else, since he and Stanley were taking up the other room in the attic. Luckily there was still plenty of room for him to pace angrily back and forth. 

“Stupid Stanley, stupid Mabel. I'm not short!” He stopped and glared around the room. 

Ria had put his journal away on the very top shelf of a book case, right next to the vent. (He was never going in _there_ again.) He jumped for the book, but came up short – _argh, that word!_ – by at least five inches. 

“Oh, come on!” Ford growled, and kicked the case. It rattled the journal loose and Ford caught it when it fell. 

He turned through the pages, muttering to himself. “There's _gotta_ be some way to get taller.”

Finally he came to a page that was practically tailor-made for his predicament. It was literally titled: “Height-Altering”. It was a two-page spread. The right page showed a picture of a path cutting through the woods. Ford recognized it vaguely from that time he rescued Stanley from the gnomes. The left page had sketches of several crystals with descriptions in black and red ink. 

He read aloud: “'Legends of miniature buffaloes and giant squirrels have led me to believe there are height-altering properties hidden deep within the forest. Initial testing indicates these crystals hold the power to alter any living creature's height!'” 

He snapped the book closed. “Perfect.” 

 

It took him maybe twenty minutes to find the path through the forest from memory. It would've been even faster with the golf cart, but Ria had been fixing up the engine. 

The forest was less creepy since the last time he'd been on his own. The sky was a normal blue color, the birds were singing, and there was no sign of Waddles the Stealth Pig. That, and the fact that any woodland creatures were probably scared off just by the look on his face. He was still scowling darkly. He _hated_ it when people made fun of him. Now Stanley had found something else to pick on? Ford mentally dared any squirrel, deer, or gnome to take him on. He wasn't usually the twin who was spoiling for a fight, but he sure felt like it today. 

Ford walked along the path for awhile, but he still didn't see any crystals. He growled in frustration and took out the book, trying to match the picture to his surroundings. He was definitely on the right path, but where were the – 

A root came out of nowhere and tripped him. He fell hard and kept rolling down a grassy hill, yelling with surprise. He landed with a very painful crash at the bottom of the slope, flat on his back with leaves and sticks poking out of his hair and jacket. 

“Ah, geez,” he moaned, pushing himself up on his elbows. He checked to make sure the journal was okay. 

Then he saw the crystals. 

He sat up all the way, staring in awe at his surroundings. The slope ended in a small bowl-shaped enclave surrounded on three sides by thick trees, casting blue and purple shadows so deep it was like a little pocket of night. Crystals sprouted like glowing blades from the rocks, shimmering with pale pinks and steely blues. They lit the rocks and the mosses around them with a clear bluish light. 

“Wow,” he whispered. 

Something poked his leg and he looked down. A fully-grown stag was trying to head-but his shin – but the stag was less than three inches tall. It saw Ford watching it and bounded away, joining a small herd of does under the nearest mushroom. 

Ford flinched back at the cry of an eagle – which soared right under his nose, its a wingspan smaller than Ford's sixth finger. 

“What...?” 

It was the crystals, he realized. It had to be! But he thought they'd just altered height. Apparently they didn't alter height alone – they affected an organisms' entire proportions! 

The sudden cry of a mountain lion made him jump. The cat was crouching on the other side of the glade, eyeing Ford with lamp-like eyes, lashing its tail as it prepared to spring. 

He squinted. “Is that mountain lion tiny or just far away in perspective...?” 

It roared at him and leaped, full-sized.

“Perspective! Perspective!” He covered his head and screamed. 

A second before he was cut to ribbons, he heard a weird noise. He looked up. 

The mountain lion had jumped straight through a beam of bright pink light, and was shrinking to the size of a small dog. By the time it reached the other side of the light, it had shrunk to the size of a mouse. 

It landed on Ford, scurried madly around in his jacket, and ended up clutching the fingers of his right hand. It nibbled a fingertip and yowled in futility. 

Ford chuckled. “It still hurts, but less,” he told it. 

The cat jumped off and he stood up. He walked towards the biggest crystal of them all, careful to avoid the beams of light shooting from its facets. The light was either blue or pink. The pink light apparently shrank whatever it touched, while the blue, he guessed, made it grow. 

As if to prove him right, a butterfly chose that moment to flap through the clearing. When it flitted through the pink light, it shrank to the size of a june bug. But as it flitted through the blue light, it grew to the size of a woolly mammoth, and actually knocked over a small redwood on its way out of the clearing. 

Ford knelt at the foot of the crystals to pry one loose. As he did his fingers brushed some odd ridges in the rock. Frowning, he wiped the dirt away. 

It looked like someone had tried to carve a warning into the rock. Or something, anyway – it was written in a different language, or possibly code, using strange symbols like the ones he saw in the journal. He took out his notebook, flipped to a blank page, and placed it against the rock. He used his pen to scribble on the paper. That way, the ridges in the rock stood out in sharp relief on the page. He had more pressing matters to deal with at the moment, but as soon as he was able to crack the code in the journal, he knew he'd be able to figure out what the message meant. 

He tucked the paper inside the journal to keep it safe, pried a small crystal from the base of the rock, and left the glade. He had some experimenting to do! 

 

Stanley was sitting on the keg of fake deer teeth they kept by the cash register. It was Boyish Stan's day off, so Ria was manning the register. 

“I've been buying bigger clothes,” he told her. (Buying, stealing, borrowing – same difference.) “I'll grow into them!” 

The door chimed and Ford walked in, looking rather cheerful for a short twin. “Hey guys!” he said. “Notice anything... _different_ about me?” 

Ria peered at him closely. “ _By the power of my vacuum!_ ” Ria exclaimed in Spanish. “You've grown an extra millimeter!” 

“ _What?!_ ” Stan yelped. 

He jumped off the keg and went to stand next to Ford. Ria pulled out a yardstick and they stood next to it. Stanley checked their heights with one hand. 

_Holy toledo, he's actually as tall as me!_

Ford shrugged, grinning. “What can I say, bro? Growth spurt!” 

Stanley scowled. “Yeah, well, mine happened first.” He brightened and poked his brother lightly in the chest. “That means I'm gonna be taller in the end. It's science, Ford!” 

“No it's not, we're the same height now!” Ford protested. 

“ _Al-pha twin! Al-pha twin!_ ” 

“Oh yeah?” Ford crossed his arms. “Something tells me I've got another growth spurt comin' on right now.” He practically ran out of the room. 

Stanley narrowed his eyes, staring after his brother. “I am _too_ the Alpha Twin,” he muttered. 

“Why are you so concerned with being better?” Ria asked calmly. “It seems that each of you have your special attributes. Bragging about it seems to be causing a rift between you and your hermano.” 

_Sure, like Ford never brags about anything_ , Stan thought sarcastically. “Is it just me,” he said, “or is it weird that he had a growth spurt in the last hora?” 

Ria shrugged. “You are growing chicos. It seems normal enough to me.” 

“Riiight.”

He left Ria vacuuming the stuffed bear head and went upstairs to check on Ford. There was no way that Ford just _happened_ to have a growth spurt that made him the _exact same height_ as Stanley, right when Stan had finally beaten his brother at something. No friggin' way. 

He slammed open the door to the attic storage room. “Give it up, Ford – hey!” 

He walked up to Ford, who was smiling smugly. Ford was at least three inches taller than Stan was! And he wasn't just taller, he realized, checking Ford from head to toe. His whole _body_ had gotten bigger – even his head, which was really saying something. 

He stood back. “What the heck happened, Ford?!” 

Ford shrugged. “Y'know, puberty and stuff.” But he wouldn't look Stanley in the eye. That was always his tell. 

Stanley frowned. “You're up to something aren't you?” he demanded. “This is some kind of supernatural science-y weirdness, isn't it? Was it a wizard or something?” He pointed to the closet and started walking towards it. “There's a wizard in this closet, isn't there? _Isn't there?_ ” 

“What? No!” 

Stan turned around, standing right next to the closet with his hands on his hips. “You're telling me that there is not a wizard in this closet. You're telling me that if I open this door _right now_ –”

“Fine, open it!” Ford said. 

Stanley opened it. Inside there were hatboxes, high-heeled shoes, and an assortment of Mabel's old costumes – all with just enough space for a wizard plus his hat to stand inside. “An invisible wizard?” he said angrily. “ _Really_ , Ford?” 

“It's not a wizard,” Ford said through gritted teeth, but he was still staring hard at the closet like there actually _was_ a wizard in there. 

Stan smirked. “Does he only respond to nerdy incantations? How 'bout that Dungeons game stuff you came up with?” He turned back to the closet and started waving his arms. “Expecto Wizarium!” he called. “Wizzle! Wizar–”

Ford lost it. “It's not a wizard!” he shouted. “I grew myself using this magic flashlight!” 

Stan turned. Ford was holding a bright red flashlight with a shiny thing taped to the light bulb. “Lemme see that thing!” 

He dove for it but Ford jumped out of the way, and he smacked face-first into an old Fortune-Teller machine. “Ow!” Stan scrambled to his feet, but Ford was already racing down the stairs. “Hey! Get back here!” 

He screeched to a stop by the closet. “I'll be back for you later,” he told the closet, in case there actually was a wizard. Then he darted down the steps and chased Ford out the door, finally tackling him on the lawn. The flashlight went flying and smacked on the ground, flipping the switch. A beam of blue light glowed over the grass, lighting up a caterpillar. 

The bug immediately grew – and kept growing. By the time it crawled out of the light, the thing was the size of a train car. 

Stan's jaw dropped. “What the...” 

He got up and went over to the flashlight. He picked it up, clicked it a few times, and accidentally pointed it at his hand – which immediately ballooned to four times its size. “WAH!” he shouted in surprise, dropping the light. 

“It's okay,” Ford said quickly. “It can shrink things, too – watch!” 

Ford clicked it so it shone a weird pink color and pointed it at Stanley's hand. It immediately shrank back to regular size. He wiggled his fingers just to check. 

“Cool,” he said. “Also – normal hand karate CHOP!” He smacked the flashlight from Ford's hand, ran a few yards and spun around, the blue light turned on. Ford's head immediately swelled to ten times its size, and he pinwheeled his ridiculously undersized arms, falling back until his skull smacked the roof of the Shack. 

“You give me that!” Ford shouted, and a second later Stanley's own head was the size of a golf ball. Stanley jumped for the flashlight and changed his head back. Ford grabbed it and they rolled on the ground, struggling. 

“Give it back!” Ford yelled. 

“NEVER!” 

They pulled on each end of it like it was a tug-of-war rope and suddenly they both slipped at the same time and the flashlight went flying – 

 

Bud walked back down the road. He'd gotten tired of waiting for his father to come up with a plan that actually worked, so he'd taken instructions from the journal to capture a jar full of cursed Egyptian “super termites”. (They were just regular cursed Egyptian termites, as far as he could tell.) He figured if there was no Shack at all, that would take care of the Pines problem. 

Unfortunately, Ms. Pines had seen him coming and accidentally-on-purpose shot a crossbow straight through the jar. Bud was still several yards away from the Shack, so instead of eating the wood, they tried to eat his clothes before buzzing away. 

He was starting to understand why his father hated her. Where did she even _get_ a crossbow?! 

“Curse that woman,” he muttered. “Curse Ms. Pines, curse the Shack, curse Stanf–OW!”

Something hard and shiny clocked him on the arm and bounced to the dirt at his feet. He rubbed the sore spot, looking down. It looked like some kind of flashlight with a crystal taped over the lightbulb. 

“Mah, mah, what delightful manner of doohickory is this?” He picked it up. 

Then he saw Stanley and Stanford standing on the road in front of him, frozen mid-stride, their gazes fixed on the flashlight. 

“Uh, whatever you think it does, it doesn't!” Stan said shrilly. “And it's _definitely_ not a magic flashlight that can grow and shrink things! Nobody said anything about that!” 

Ford looked at him. “...Really?” 

Bud flicked the flashlight. Pink – blue – pink – multicolored beams of light shot out of the flashlight. He pointed at the twins. 

“Say cheese,” he said cheerfully. The twins screamed “ _Nooo_ ” as he zapped them with brilliant magenta light. They shrank until they were the size of baby caterpillars. 

Bud burst out laughing. And to think, he was so worked up about Ms. Pines and the Shack, when they were so foolish they literally handed him the key to their own demise! 

He grinned down at them. “Say 'howdy' to your new home, boys!” he sang, and scooped them up in a mason jar like a couple of wing-clipped fireflies. He tucked them into his jacket, giggling. “You're mine now, Stanley Pines!” 

 

Bud's pocket was about as glittery pink in the inside as it was on the outside. And the guy did not know how to walk gently. He and Ford were jostled around against the glass like a couple of rubber balls. 

“Ow – quit squishing me!” Ford yelped, as Stan jabbed him in the face with an elbow. 

“Sorry,” Stan said. 

Eventually they managed to brace themselves against the glass and hugged each other so at least they wouldn't bounce around so much. 

“At l-l-least there are air-h-h-holes,” Ford said, as something Bud did shook them up and down. 

One eternity later, they heard a giant door slam and Bud's steps became softer. 

“Carpet,” Ford whispered. 

Stanley frowned. “Are we in his house?” 

Another door slammed, and a minute later Bud took them out of his pocket and shook them onto a desk. They grunted as they hit the surface. Giant plastic bags, a hamster cage, a desk lamp, several sheets of paper, some hair spray – the desk was a massive obstacle course of objects that could crush them if they tipped over. Ford shrank back and pressed against Stan's arm, and Stanley grabbed his brother's jacket. Things did not look good. 

“Well, howdy!” Bud said. His face and shiny white hair loomed over them. “Didjy'all enjoy the trip?” 

Stan stared up angrily. “What the heck, Bud?! What are you trying to pull here?” 

“Oh, don't you worry, Stanley!” Bud said, reaching down with a huge fat finger to scrub at Stanley's head. “I ain't gonna harm a hair on yer itty-bitty head...as long as yer mah best friend, anyway.” 

“Get off me!” Stanley punched the finger away. 

“Suit yerself,” Bud said, not the least bit disturbed. He picked up Stan by the back of his shirt, lifting him high into the air. 

“No – Stanley!” Ford shouted, jumping. 

For once Stanley _really_ wished his brother was the tall twin. “Let me go, Gleeful!” Stan shouted. 

“Sure, Stanley! Anything for mah best friend!” 

“I am _NOT_ your best _ANYTHING_ , you gigantic pink-suited –” He stopped short and gasped. Bud was holding him directly over an open bag of toffee peanuts. “HECK YEAH!” 

Bud dropped him in and Stanley immediately started gnawing on the nearest candy. At this size, the candy was as big as his head. Talk about a toffee-flavored jawbreaker! 

“And as fer you...” Bud jerked the desk lamp and shone the light directly in Ford's face. Stan forgot the candy and stared through the bag, watching anxiously. “How exactly did you come up with this magic item, hmm? Did someone tell you about it? Did you... _read_ about it somewhere?” 

Stan's eyes – and Ford's – went straight to Ford's jacket pocket. _Lie, Ford!_ Stan tried to tell him with a Look. He didn't know why Bud would want the journal, but it sure couldn't be good. _Look him straight and the eye and lie!_

Ford swallowed. “Lean closer and I'll tell you!” he called up. 

Bud smiled and leaned in, turning his head. “Well, don't mind if I –”

_BREEEEEEEE!_

Bud jumped back with a shriek and Stanley laughed. Ford had pressed an air horn with the most perfect timing Stan had ever seen. He gave his brother a thumbs-up through the plastic. His brother smiled shakily. 

Bud had turned away, his hands over his ears, breathing heavily. The scary thing was, when he turned around slowly, the same pudgy-cheeked smile was still on his face. 

“I can see what we have heah is a failure to communicate,” he said softly. 

Ford backed up. 

Stanley clawed at the sides of the bag, trying to climb out, but the plastic was too slick. “DON'T YOU HURT MY BROTHER!” he bellowed. “DON'T YOU DARE TOUCH HIM!” 

“ _Bud!_ ” 

The three of them jumped. Gideon's voice called out from somewhere in the house. “Bud, get in here!” 

Bud gave Ford one last creepy smile. “Be right back,” he said cheerfully. “Don't y'all go nowhere!” 

He walked across the room and closed the door. 

Stanley slumped against the side of the back. “Oh Sweet Moses, that kid is scarier than the Chuckie doll.” 

“We've gotta get out of here,” Ford said, looking around for something to knock down the bag. 

“And then what? I'm not a genius, but I'm pretty sure we can't change back without that flashlight, and I think Bud still had it with him when he left.” 

“I know where there's a whole gathering of crystals in the forest,” Ford said. “If worst comes to worst, we can always use those.” He found a safety pin and tied it onto a hair he pulled from Bud's hair brush. He swung it like a lasso and aimed for the top of the bag. It took four tries, but he managed to get the safety pin over the lip of the bag. Stanley used it to climb out. 

Ford sighed. “Well, on the bright side, at least we're finally the same height now.” 

Stanley raised his eyebrows. “Actually...” 

They dug through Bud's pencil case until they found a six-inch ruler. Sure enough, Stanley was still one millimeter taller. 

“How is that even possible?” Ford demanded. 

Stanley shrugged. “Who cares? _Al-pha twin! Al-pha twin!_ ” 

Ford stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Whatever! Let's just get out of here and get that stupid flashlight back.” 

They hooked the safety pin to the empty hamster cage and used it to rappel down the side of the desk. Stanley was very careful to avoid looking down. 

_I'm kinda impressed Ford can do this with his little noodle arms,_ Stan thought. 

They made their way to the door, rolled under it, and fought their way through the shag carpet in the hallway until they came to the living room. 

The place actually looked like something from a commercial: the carpets and walls were a neat beige, trimmed with white. There was a matching cream-colored sofa and a coffee table with a few books on it just for show. On the other side of the table was an enormous gold-colored armchair studded with bronze around the arm rests. 

The living room was entirely normal – except for the back of the front door. 

Stan had noticed Bud had a montage of creepy photos on the back of his bedroom door, along with some burned-up shreds of stuff. He must've gotten the idea from this door. There were about a hundred clippings of the Mystery Shack and the Tent of Telepathy on it, with red markers going from article to article as if it was keeping score. And there were schematics and diagrams of the Shack and what looked like a bunch of lists on how to make the Shack unsuccessful, uninhabitable, or both. 

“Oh, man,” Ford whispered.

But that wasn't the worst part. The _worst_ part was that the evil mastermind himself was standing in front of the door, his legs spread wide, his hands on his hips, glaring down at Bud. 

“...even though Ah can't, nobody's going to notice the town darling snooping around and get suspicious,” Gideon was saying. He shoved a sack at Bud. “Ah don't care what you were doing holed up in your room, but cancel your plans. You do this right and the Shack will be history. Ah'll let you take a whole week's vacation from the Tent – but _only_ if you pull this off, got that?” 

“Yes, father.” 

Gideon patted his son's cheek. “There we go.” 

He turned and stomped down the hall. Stan and Ford barely had time to dive behind the couch to avoid getting spotted or squashed. 

“And pick up some ice cream while you're out, we've only got the one with nuts left!” Gideon shouted, and slammed a door shut. 

Stanley peeked out to see Bud heading out the door, sack in hand, and closing it behind him. 

“Whaddowedo, whaddowedo?” Ford whispered. 

“Calm down already!” Stan snapped. He eyed the hallway in case Gideon came back. “Okay, so we know Gideon's a psycho and he's probably just sent Bud off to do something really really bad to Grauntie Mabel. We just gotta make sure we get there first and stop him.”

“Why? Why does he hate the Shack so much?!” 

From the way Ford's voice cracked, he was clearly on the way to a panic attack. To be fair, it was pretty traumatizing to find out that you were shorter than your brother. (Oh, and that a psycho was after your family.)

Stan turned to his brother and put his hands on Ford's shoulders. “We're gonna stop him,” Stan said firmly. “You just need to take a deep breath and put that big brain of yours to work.” 

Ford looked at him for a moment, all scared and wide-eyed. Then he actually did take a deep breath, and Stan could almost see the gears turning in his head. Stan smiled. It was always cool to see his brother come up with a plan at the drop of a hat. Whatever it was, Stan knew he was going to like it. 

“Well,” Ford said, “how's your thing with heights?” 

He didn't like it. 

 

Grauntie Mabel and Ria had cleared out the parlor and filled the whole room with full-length mirrors, creating a homemade mirror maze. She also planned to fill the room with heavy purple fog that would drift around people's ankles as they walked. 

“This is the coolest idea _ever!_ ” Grauntie Mabel squealed. “Who'd have thought actual smoke and mirrors would be even cooler than metaphorical smoke and mirrors?” 

“We could even add in some spooky lights using the port from the disco ball,” Ria said. 

Mabel clapped her hands. “Brilliant! Just keep working with the mirrors. Fiddleford's already worked with the light system in here, so he should be able to set it up. I'm going to go give him a call. Be right back!” She practically danced out of the room. 

Halfway to the phone, though, she heard the doorbell ring. 

“Hmm...” If it was the _actual_ tax collector, she wanted to be far away for the next few minutes. Preferably in the next county, state, or an untraceable condo in Hawai'i. 

She headed back to the parlor. “Changed my mind,” she said. “How 'bout I finish things up in here and you phone Fiddleford? And could you answer the door for me, please?” That way, Mabel could use the mirrors to see who was at the door without having to answer it herself...and then escape out the back if she needed to. 

 

Ria opened the door and looked down. 

“Hello, Bud,” she said politely. 

“Hello, Ms. Ria,” he said, equally polite. “Ah hope you don't mind, since we work in rival businesses, but Ah was hoping to do some shopping for a friend of mine.” 

Ria frowned slightly. “I don't mind, Bud, but I'm not sure Ms. Pines would feel comfortable with that.” 

“Ah completely understand,” he assured her. “What if you watched me the whole time? Since you work here, you'd be the best person to ask if Ah had a question about something, anyway. Perhaps you could even help me pick out a gift for that special someone.” 

Ria's frowned smoothed away. “I suppose that would be alright,” she said. “Let me take you around to the Gift Shop.” 

 

Stan was definitely going to be sick. 

Crazy-Guy-Who-Married-A-Woodpecker walked by right when Ford predicted he would, on his way to buy more birdseed for his wife. Ford said there'd be a really small bird on the woodpecker, called a “Woodpecker Pecker”, that they could lure using the nuts from the ice cream. Stan didn't object – too loudly, anyway – because he thought a “woodpecker pecker” sounded totally crazy. He was pretty sure Ford's plan wouldn't even work.

Only the nuts _did_ attract a tiny bird, which was basically a miniature woodpecker that was exactly the right size for them to climb on its back. Yippee. 

They got on and Ford steered them toward the Shack. About halfway there, the bird got really annoyed and started doing loop-de-loops and zig-zagging, trying to shake its riders off. They barely managed to land on the lawn of the Shack before it tossed them off its back and flew away.

Stanley was _definitely_ going to be sick. 

“I hate that journal,” he gasped, straight-arming an empty can of Pitt Cola. “I hate woodpeckers, I hate woodpecker peckers, I hate loop-de-loops, and right now, my stomach hates _me_.” 

Ford, however, was energized by their near-death experience, which led to serious questions about his brother's sanity. He had climbed a small rock and was shading his eyes, surveying the lawn like an explorer. “Well, buckle up, Stan,” he said firmly, “because we've only just got here and we still have a long ways to _Bud is already here!_ ” 

“What?!” 

Stan jerked upright. Unlike Ford (who was short), he didn't need to climb rocks to see above the leaves. Ria was leading Bud around the building and straight into the Gift Shop! 

“Oh sweet toffee peanuts!” Stan yelped. 

“We've gotta get over there!” Ford said. He looked around and noticed the can. “I got an idea.” 

“I hate your ideas!” 

“No heights this time, now get in the can!” 

“Excuse me?!” 

Ford shoved him into the empty soda can. “Now run like hamster!” 

“A _taller_ hamster!” 

“We're gonna do this _now?!_ Just run, Stanley!” 

They ran/rolled across the grass, Ford peeking out every now and then to make sure they were still aimed for the Gift Shop. They made it to the porch just after Ria and Gideon stepped inside the shop. The two of them scrambled out of the can, pushed it upright, and used it like a step stool to get them up to the porch. Ford was even sweatier than usual and he was breathing hard, but Stanley grabbed his arm and yanked him along. 

“Let's go, let's go, who knows what he's doing to Ria right now?!” he cried. 

They ran for the door, crawled underneath it, and stood up to see – 

Bud holding up a snow globe and saying it complimented Ria's eyes. 

“Really,” Bud was saying. “I'm surprised Ms. Pines hasn't made a snow globe with you in it. I'm certain it would be a best-seller.” 

“Oh, Bud, you are such a lady's man,” Ria chuckled. 

Stanley stared. “What the... He did have an evil plan, right? Ford?” 

“The sack!” Ford was staring around wildly, pushing his damp hair out of his eyes. “He came here with a sack, where is it?!” 

They scurried around the edges of the Gift Shop, searching for it. Bud had to have put it down somewhere. Or hidden it. What was in it anyway? A time bomb? Embarrassing photos? Incriminating evidence from a counterfeiting scheme? (Not that Stan would know anything about that.) 

“Do you have this in a bigger size?” Bud asked, holding up an XXXL T-shirt. 

“I believe that is as large as they come,” Ria said. 

“Would you mind terribly checking in the back, just in case?” Bud asked sweetly. “Pour favour?” 

Stan and Ford, who were currently under a case of merchandise, watched Ria's feet turn and head towards the “Employees Only” door at the back. 

“Perfect,” Bud whispered, so quietly they could barely hear him. Stan and Ford glanced at each other. What the heck was Psycho Jr. planning to do?!

Bud took the sack out of his jacket. Then he took something out of the sack and stuffed it under a bookcase across the room. Stan and Ford ran towards it as soon as Bud walked away. It was...it was...

“Shells,” Ford said, looking at the giant pink exoskeleton. “He's hiding _shrimp shells?_ ” 

Stan went to the edge of the bookcase and saw Bud putting another pink fistful into the mouth of the Narwhal-Bear, fitting each shell carefully between its teeth. 

“It's the most brilliant prank _ever_ ,” Stanley said, awed. If he'd just been hiding shrimp, fleshy bits and all, it would've started to stink within hours, making it pretty easy to guess that Bud had done something. But the shells wouldn't start to smell for at least a day or two, and by then Bud would make sure he stayed away from the Shack. And the shells would just rot, and rot, and keep rotting, and nobody would be able to find them in the places Bud was putting them, nobody would even think to _look_ , and if they _did_ find them, the smell would've soaked into the walls and floor and made the place completely uninhabitable. It was sabotage at its very finest. 

“We gotta stop him!” Ford said angrily. 

“Stop him how?” 

“We have to warn Ria. C'mon!” 

“Wait!” 

Too late – Ford dashed out from under the bookcase just as Bud turned around. Something flashed in his eyes. 

“Hey!” 

Ford yelped and tried to run back to the bookcase, but Bud was on top of him in three quick strides. Stan sprang froward and shoved his brother out of the way just as Bud's pudgy fist came down on the floor. Bud swung his other arm to block their escape to the bookcase. 

Stan grabbed his brother. “RUN!” 

They darted across the floor, but at three inches high, it didn't really matter how fast he could run. Bud stopped them at every turn, knocking down the postcard rack, grabbing shirts to throw over them, stomping with his feet to keep them from darting back under the furniture. 

“The flashlight!” Ford gasped. “I saw it in his jacket!” 

“Forget the flashlight and don't get smashed!” 

“I've gotta get taller!” 

“Oh, who's gotta do this now, again?!” 

Finally Bud grabbed a jar of deer teeth, dumped it in the trash and smashed it over the twins. Stan jumped back and tumbled into Ford, barely avoiding getting his feet crushed by the rim of the jar. 

“There we go!” Bud scooped them up in the jar and screwed on the lid. “Ah gotta say, you two gave me quite the run-around,” he panted. 

“What _happened?_ ” 

Bud turned. Ria had entered the room with a size XXXXL shirt as big as a tent, surveying the chaos caused by Bud's attempts to corral them. Her eyes went straight to the jar in Bud's hands. 

“Kids?!” 

Bud took the flashlight out of his jacket. “Looks like it's time for Plan B!” 

“NO!” Stan screamed, just as Ford shouted, “DUCK!” 

Too late. Ria got a full blast of the pink light and shrank to the size of small orange. Before she or the twins could react, Bud grabbed her up and dumped her in the jar. 

“Now y'all get comfy and keep quiet if you know what's good for you,” he said cheerfully. “Figures my father's plans wouldn't do the trick, but I've got just the thing that might. You'll have another visitor _real_ soon.” He chuckled to himself, screwed the lid back on the jar and tucked it into his pink jacket pocket. “Oh Ms. Piii-iiiines,” they heard him call. The jar thumped rhythmically as Bud started walking through the Shack. 

The three of them struggled to get out. Ria shoved the side of the glass with her shoulder, Ford breathed on his hands and tried to climb the glass, and Stan kicked at the jar until he lost his balance and fell over. Nothing worked. 

The inside of Bud's pocket was pretty gross. He had some money (Stan made a mental note to think of a way to get that), a half-eaten lolly pop, a ball of lint, and an Elementary School ID. Stanley stuck his tongue out at it. 

“Ugh, this is all your fault!” Ford said, rounding on Stanley. 

Stan stared at him. “How is it my fault?!” 

“You're the one who jerked the flashlight out of my hands when we were fighting!” 

“Well you're the one who made the flashlight in the first place!” 

“Well you're the one who –”

“Stanley, Stanford, this is not helping,” Ria said firmly, rubbing her shoulder. “Why are you fighting so much in the first place? Normally you two work together like the two wings of a bird!” 

“Ask Ford,” Stanley said. “He's the one who's been acting weird all day and obsessing over how short he is.” 

“I am _not short!_ ” 

“But it is such a small difference,” Ria said. “Why does it bother you so much?” 

Ford stuffed his hands in his pockets and stared at his shoes. 

Stan was getting impatient. “Look, Ford, you win at _everything._ Chess, checkers, ping pong...you even started keeping score! I mean...” Stan looked down too. “Everybody knows you're smarter than me. What's the big deal if I get just one thing I'm better at than you?” 

Ford looked up. “That's not true. You're funnier than me and you make friends better. Everybody always makes fun of me. And then today when _you_ started making fun of me, too...” 

Stan grimaced. It hadn't even occurred to him that his teasing might bother Ford. “Aw, man. I'm sorry, Ford.” 

He nodded. “Yeah...me, too.” 

It felt weird to do an awkward sibling hug in front of Ria, so Stan leaned over and punched Ford's arm lightly. Ford grinned a little, and Stan grinned back. They high-sixed. 

Ria sniffed and scooped them up in a bear hug. “ _This is definitely going in my Pines Family Fanfic!_ ” she cried in Spanish. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Stan said, but they were both grinning as they wriggled out of her arms. “We still gotta un-shrink ourselves. I don't wanna be the size of a corn chip forever.” 

“Plus Bud's heading for Grauntie Mabel right now,” Ford added urgently. “We've gotta find a way out of here!”

 

Bud walked into the parlor and gasped. There were hundreds of Ms. Pineses everywhere! 

“Gah!” he cried, startled. 

A split second later he realized that all of the Ms. Pineses were just reflections in some kind of hokey mirror-maze. (And if _he_ thought it was hokey, that was really saying something.) 

“Oh, hi, Bud!” Mabel said cheerfully. All of her reflections waved at him, but he didn't see the real Ms. Mystery anywhere. “I was just looking for someone to test out my mirror maze! Care to give it a whirl?” 

“Hmm...why don't you come on out and give me the tour?” he asked, holding the flashlight low and out of sight. 

“Nah. Where's the fun in that?” She grinned at him. “Try to catch me, suckah!” 

Her reflections vanished simultaneously, and he sighed. Really, he didn't know why his father was so obsessed with that woman and her Shack. It would be much easier to leave now and simply say that he'd been caught. Bud would still have taken her family away. Surely that would take the Pines woman down a peg and keep his father happy in the bargain. 

But he knew his father wouldn't care about the rest of the Pines. Neither did Bud, come to think of it, with the sole exception of his once and future best friend. No, Gideon would want Mabel Pines out of the picture, and he'd settle for nothing less. 

Sighing, Bud twirled the flashlight in his fingers. “Alright, Ms. Pines,” he sang. “Ready or not, hear I come!” 

 

Stan stood on Ria's shoulders and Ford stood on Stanley's. Bud had left the lid screwed on loosely since it didn't have air holes, so Ford managed to unscrew it and the three of them climbed out. 

“Alright, Ford, what's the plan?” Stan asked. 

“We need to get Bud away from Mabel, and no matter what, we need to keep him from shrinking her.” 

“Yeah but what's the _plan?_ ” 

Ria spoke up. “I have an idea.”

A few minutes later, Ria and Ford were scrambling down Bud's shirt, leaving Stanley to carry out the other part of the plan. 

“You think he'll be alright?” Ford gasped, slip-sliding down the glittery pink silk. 

“I hope so!” Ria said, digging her fingers into the shirt to slow her descent. 

They were so small and so light that Ford was hoping Bud wouldn't notice two tiny people crawling down his back. He was half-right. 

“Oh dear, termites,” Bud thundered. Ford saw Bud's hand swinging around to swipe at his back. 

“JUMP!” he screamed, and they leaped. 

Ford screamed as he fell, spreading his arms and legs. Ria caught the edge of the nearest mirror with one hand and reached out to grab Ford with the other. They swung there for a minute, panting. 

“N-n-now I g-get why Stanley hates h-heights,” Ford said, his teeth chattering. 

“Hurry, we need to get to the smoke machine!” 

She swung Ford over to the frame of the mirror and he grabbed hold, digging his fingers into the ridges of the ornate designs. They quickly clambered down. 

 

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” Bud sang. 

“Not until I find my crossbow!” Mabel sang back. 

“You know, you could go to jail for shooting at a minor,” Bud said conversationally, peering around a mirror in a carved wooden frame. This was getting a little tiresome. 

He pulled out the flashlight. As long as he angled it right...but that was the problem, wasn't it. If he just shot it at random at a mirror, it could easily rebound and hit _him_. 

He started turning the mirrors, angling them ever so carefully as he went. 

Now that he was no longer calling out, the parlor was oddly quiet. Was Ms. Pines still in the room? He frowned, turning, but he couldn't see the exits this deep in the maze, not with full-length mirrors rising all around him. How very frustrating. 

Then he heard the sound of something scuffing against the floor, like the heel of a glittery purple pump. He smiled to himself and crept very quietly around the next corner. 

“Ah-HA!” he shouted, leaping out. 

Mabel, who'd been sneaking up with the crossbow in her arms, shrieked and jumped back. The crossbow hit the floor and went off, the arrow rebounding off a heavy mirror, arcing off the ceiling and shattering three more mirrors before crashing through the window. 

“Mah, mah, attempted murder with a crossbow,” Bud tsk'ed. “That's a serious o-ffense, Ms. Pines.” 

“I wasn't aiming at you, I was aiming for a squirrel!” she said, stamping her foot. “That would be manslaughter at the _most_ and anyway get outta my house!” 

He pointed the flashlight at her, placed his thumb on the trigger, and smiled. “Make me.” 

 

They were nearly at the fog machine, out of breath from charging at full speed across the wood floor and dodging several dust bunnies the size of Volkswagons. 

“I really – need to vacuum – more often,” Ria gasped. 

“Do it later, how do we turn it on?” Ford said, staring up at the machine. It was about the size of a shoebox, with a nozzle at one end and a cord plugged into the wall at the other. 

“There's a switch – over here!” 

Ria led him around the the corner of the machine. From their new angle, Ford could see a red button on the top, close to the electrical cord. 

Suddenly there was a loud _TWANG_ and an arrow ricocheted around the parlor. Ford screamed and they covered their heads as the arrow shot straight through the window, showering them with shards of glass. 

“That must've been from Ms. Pines!” 

“Bud found her!” Ford realized. “Hurry, come on!” 

Ria shoved Ford up and he climbed the slick surface, hooking his twelve fingers on the edge of the red button. It didn't move. He scrambled on top of it and started jumping, but nothing happened. 

“It's stuck! I don't weigh enough, you have to help me!” 

“I'm coming, dude!”

Ford lay flat on the button and reached down, struggling to help Ria up without falling off. Suddenly they heard a shriek. 

“NOW!” Ford shouted. He pulled as hard as he could and Ria jumped straight up. She landed with her full bodyweight on the button. The fog machine _churrred_ to life. Ria immediately cranked it to the highest setting, and the machine puffed out huge thick clouds of purple glittery smoke. 

 

In retrospect, Stan decided, maybe hiding in Bud's sleeve was not the best place to be. 

The guy swung his arm around so much that Stan was afraid he was going to slide right out and go flying, which would definitely not end well. At least Bud's sleeve was so baggy that Stan could hang on to the loose fabric without worrying about whether Bud would notice him. 

He heard Bud corner Mabel. 

“Wh-what is that thing?” she asked nervously. 

Bud strode forward. Stanley scrambled to get to the edge of his sleeve.

“I'm so happy you asked, Ms. Pines,” Bud said pleasantly. “You see, I can't share this sort of thing with my father, or he'd appropriate it for his own designs. This means I have very, very few people I can really show it off to. You, of course, are one of them.” 

Stanley's stomach lurched as Bud raised his hand and pointed the flashlight at his Grauntie. 

“Allow me to demonstrate.” 

“HYAAHHH!” 

Stanley launched straight out onto Bud's fingers and bit down as hard as he could.

Bud shrieked and surprise and dropped the flashlight, shaking his hand. Stanley fell screaming to the floor. 

 

Bud was pretty sure that hadn't been a termite. In fact, unless his eyes were playing tricks on him, it looked like a very small Stanley. But before he could check the jar in his jacket, the place suddenly bloomed with clouds of violet smoke. 

“Hey!” Bud covered his mouth with his sleeve and coughed, stepping back. “What is this?” 

“That would be my fog machine,” Mabel said. 

“That –” Bud broke off, coughing harder. The smoke was rising fast and thick, getting into his lungs and making his eyes water. _The flashlight!_ He grabbed a big a breath and ducked under the smoke, feeling blindly on the floor. 

“Uh, Bud, are you alright?” Mabel called. “I don't wanna step on you by accident here...” 

_In short order I will make you so small that_ I _will step on_ you! Bud thought. His eyes watered badly and he shut them tight, feeling with both hands along the floor. Suddenly he heard a strange noise and felt something lumpy under his hands. He tried to pick it up but, but it wouldn't budge. 

Something grabbed him by the back of his shirt and hauled him to his feet. It was Stanley, looking slightly bigger than he remembered. Quite a lot bigger than normal, actually. And apparently Bud had tried to pick up Stanley's foot. 

“Let's take this outside,” Stanley growled. Bud gasped as the door of the parlor came sweeping towards him at an alarming rate. Stanley threw him onto the lawn and followed him out, barely fitting through the parlor doorway. He was now so tall that the eaves of the Shack brushed the crown of his hair. Purple smoke billowed out of the doorway behind him, giving the impression that Stanley was a very violent – and violet – volcano. His hands, each the size of a car tire, balled into fists. He glared at Bud. 

“Uh, well, I, uh,” Bud stammered. He coughed up purple smoke. 

Stanley pointed a finger at him. “Let's get something straight here, _Buddy_. You pick on my brother? You mess with my family? You answer to _me_. Now scram before I kick your sparkly pink butt from here to Graceland.” 

Bud stared up at him, frozen. 

“I _said_ ,” said Stanley, looming over him like a mountain, “ _scram_.” 

Bud scrammed. 

 

Stanley was pretty sure that if Grauntie Mabel saw him like that, she'd probably freak out. The only reason she hadn't spotted him yet was because of the smoke filling the room. (Or maybe she _had_ spotted him and was freaking out. Again, it was hard to tell with all the smoke.) 

Still, he decided not to take chances. He reached back inside the parlor with one arm and felt around until he felt something like a hard, blunt metal toothpick. It was kinda tricky clicking the buttons with his fingers so big, but he managed it with a small twig and shrank himself back to normal size. Then he pocketed the flashlight. 

“Grauntie Mabel?” he called into the parlor, holding his shirt up over his nose. 

“Here!” called a voice. “I can't find the fog machine, the thing went nuts!” 

“I got it!” 

He was pretty sure a fog machine was electric, so he just felt his way along the walls unplugging anything he found. He was coughing pretty hard by the time he pulled a plug that made a _CHURRRR-CHUG-chug-chug_ sound. 

“Stay where you are until the fog clears!” Grauntie Mabel called between a lot of coughing. 

No problem there. He was pretty tired, so he sat against the wall and kept his hands over his mouth. Oddly, though, he wasn't coughing as hard. And there was a draft. He looked up and saw that he'd sat down right under a window, but the glass had all shattered. Huh. He'd been stuck in Bud's sleeve at the time, so he was _pretty_ sure that wasn't his fault. 

“HEY!” called a tiny voice. 

Stan looked down. 

Miniature Ria and Miniature Ford were waving up at him. They'd taken the broken glass from the window and used it to spell “HELP” and “SOS!” 

“Down here!” Ria shouted. “We're DOWN HERE!” 

“Yeah, I see you, I see you, hang on...” 

He fished the flashlight out of his pocket and aimed it at Ria, growing her first. He flinched when the fog lit up with magenta light. 

“What was _that?!_ ” Grauntie Mabel shouted. 

“Uh – fog machine's broken!” Stan called back. He shoved the flashlight at Ria. “Here – you do Ford, I gotta go distract Mabel. I am not getting in trouble and dusting taxidermy again.” 

He ran off to distract his grauntie. 

 

Ford made sure that he and Ria were grown back to their regular heights. Ria agreed to hold on to the flashlight for now. 

“It's power is too great for any one man,” Ford admitted solemnly. 

She nodded back, equally solemn. “Then it is wise that you are entrusting it to a woman.” 

Grauntie Mabel had decided that the mirror maze wasn't the best idea after all, so she had Ford and Stan clean up the broken mirror shards and pack the rest of the mirrors into the back of a truck she rented to haul them all back to the Crate & Barrel company. Ria fixed the parlor window and took the fog machine back to the rental place. That left Ford and Stan in the Shack.

Ford finished sweeping up the broken glass and dumped it outside. When he went back in, the parlor was clean and Stan was gone. 

_Hmm._

He walked through the house until he found Stanley in the living room, sitting in Grauntie Mabel's chair. He was slouched against an armrest, his head on his hand, flicking through the channels too fast to be really watching. 

“You look beat,” Ford observed. 

“Mmm.” 

“I gave Ria the flashlight.” 

“M'kay.” 

“I found this neat engraving in the crystals that I think might use the same code from the Journal.” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“You're still taller than me.” 

Stan's head whipped around. “I'm what?” 

Ford grinned. “Go on, check.” 

Stan jumped off the chair and they stood back to back. Stanley held up his hand to check. 

“I _am_ still taller,” he said, surprised, as they turned to face each other. “You let me keep my extra millimeter?” 

“I had Ria measure me to get it right.” 

Stanley shrieked with excitement and put Ford in a loose headlock, scrubbing Ford's hair with his knuckles. “You are the best little brother _ever!_ ” 

“Hey! Call me little brother one more time, I dare you!” Ford shoved himself out of Stan's grip and then launched himself, flattening Stanley to the carpet. They two of them proceeded to tickle each other until they heard the front door open. 

Grauntie Mabel walked in, yawning and rubbing her eyes. “Holy hot sauce, I'm tired,” she muttered. She blinked blearily at Stan and Ford. “I don't wanna make dinner. You guys okay with takeout?” 

“PIZZA!” they shouted together. 

“Works for me. Maybe I can flirt the pizza guy into delivering for free.” 

They simultaneously pictured their crusty old Grauntie flirting and shuddered. 

 

The huge thronelike chair banged into the wall, one of its legs snapping off and bouncing across the coffee table. 

“What do you _mean_ you got caught?!” Gideon bellowed. “You're cute! You're lovable! This town is so deep into your pocket they're one with the lint! And you _got caught and left?!_ ” 

“Yes, father,” Bud said coldly. He was far too used to his father's tirades to be bothered by them any longer. 

A strange kind of rage was burning in his chest, one minute hot, the next minute cold. Sure his father was taller than Bud was, and he towered over Bud all the time. But now his best _friend_ had literally done the same thing. 

Gideon was still shouting. “– don't want to just take away her business! I want her embarrassed! Humiliated! Homeless!” 

“Not so loud, father,” Bud said, in that same cold, controlled voice. “The neighbors will hear you. Don't incriminate yourself, especially before we've actually _done_ anything.” 

His father stopped shouting and stared at him. “What's the matter with you? You're acting...smarter than usual.” 

Bud looked his father straight in the eye. “Be patient, father. If you want the actual Shack, you'll get it. We just need to create the opportunity to get it – and we'll need to find a way to get it that looks legal. Not only will you end your feud with the Pines woman, but you will have the public's support.” 

“What's the matter with you?” Gideon repeated, narrowing his eyes. 

Bud saw no reason to lie. “Stanley Pines humiliated me, and he needs to be taught a lesson.” 

Gideon looked at him for a long moment. 

“Son, I have never been so proud,” he said. “Go pick the nuts out of the ice cream. Then get in here and let's plan our sweet, sweet revenge.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LOVE the idea of Stan stepping out of the Mystery Shack and straightening up and just getting bigger and bigger...! YAS STAN PROTECT YOUR FAM
> 
> Also I know I'm diverging a bit with Bud's personality, but my thinking is this: Bud is being _raised_ by Gideon. Meaning he's being raised as by a power-hungry greed monster who throws tantrums (and furniture). And the canon made it clear that Bud loved his son but couldn't control or influence him. I'm thinking the Bud in this series would also love Gideon, so he'd love his father instead of defying him. And since Gideon is Bud's example for what to act like, Bud would be likely to act more and more like him as time went on.


	2. Fee Fi Fo Ford Short

“M-maybe th-th-this isn't a good id-dea,” Fiddleford stammered, as Stan's car drove over the rough terrain. 

“Don't be silly, why wouldn't it be?” Ford asked, staring intently through the trees. “There, that way, Stanley.” Stan turned the wheel of his car obligingly. 

“I dunno, Sixer, I'm kinda with Fiddlesticks on this one,” Stan said. “I mean, a weird-looking code doesn't seem like it's gonna lead to buried treasure.” 

“Sometimes knowledge is its own reward,” Ford countered. 

“Neeeeeerd.” 

Fiddleford was still looking around anxiously. Stan was behind the wheel, Ford was sitting in the middle, and Fiddleford was squished against the side of the car. It had decent shock absorbers, but the forest floor was still so bumpy that it jostled them around like beans in a can. They headed deeper and deeper into the forest, the shadows deepening until it seemed like night had fallen way too early. Fiddleford eyed the shadows nervously. 

“I-I dunno, F-Ford...after the last supern-n-natural thing we d-did, I'm n-n-not sure –”

“It'll be fine,” Ford assured him. “We're just gonna go, double-check my sketch, hunt around for clues, and that'll be that. Tell you what, we'll leave the second we see a scary-looking monster, okay?” 

If anything, Fiddleford was even more unnerved. “There are _monsters_ in these woods?!” 

“Oh, they're not all dangerous. Steve the Tree Giant only eats cars, not people.” 

“Steve the _what?!_ ” 

“There!” Ford pointed as Stan approached a small clearing that literally glowed with a pale blue light. 

Stan whistled in appreciation. The crystals were beautiful, growing straight up from the dark flat rocks like gleaming, luminous monuments. 

“It's amazin',” Fiddleford said, his voice soft with awe. 

Ford smiled and climbed straight over the windshield, sliding down the hood of the car. 

Stan winced. “Hey, easy on the paint!” 

“C'mon, you guys!” Ford said eagerly. “FOR SCIENCE!” 

“Not so loud,” Fiddleford cautioned, remembering the monsters. He glanced around nervously. 

Stanley rolled his eyes. “C'mon. We'd better help him find that code thing or we'll be here all day.” 

The two of them climbed out of the car and, following Ford's lead, began carefully examining the rocks. 

“Wait,” Stan said, grabbing Fiddleford just before he stepped into a beam of purple light. “Hang on, you gotta be careful where you step. The pink ones'll make you bigger, and the blue ones will make you smaller.” 

“You got it backwards,” Ford said, bending over a rock and examining it carefully. 

“Well, whatever, just stay out of the light,” Stan said. 

Fiddleford shook his head. “It's like a version of Ashley in Upperland.”

Ford was muttering to himself, running his fingers over a rock across the clearing. “I don't get it...it's supposed to be right here...” 

“Well that _is_ why you brought us to look,” Stan said. 

Ford shook his head, frowning. “No, I brought you to help me look for more inscriptions. But the one I found before...it's like it's gone!” 

“Okay, okay, keep your pants on.” 

 

The three of them spread out, carefully examining every rock. Stanley really hoped this led to buried treasure, because otherwise they were just walking around touching a bunch of rocks. 

Fiddleford had invented some kind of weird telescope-thing to hook over his glasses so he wouldn't have to hold up a magnifying glass the whole time. Sort of like Google Glass, but even dorkier. He'd made one for Ford, too, so the two of them looked doubly dorky examining the rocks. 

Stanley did not wear glasses, would never wear glasses, and would absolutely not attach a pair of telescopes to his face. He squinted at the rock. Even if he looked cooler than Ford 1 and Ford 2, it was kind of hard to see much of anything in the blue half-light. All the rocks started looking the same. He started randomly wandering around, rubbing one hand against a rock here and there to make it look like he was still helping. 

He was just wondering if he could go back to the car and take a nap when he felt some kind of weird bumpy thing under his fingertips. Kinda like Braille. He frowned and bent closer. “Hey, guys, come look at this.” 

“What?” Ford darted over, Fiddleford following behind. “You found it?! But that isn't the right rock at all, are you sure –”

Stan pointed. There, on the rock, was the line of weird symbols. 

“Tada!” he said proudly. “Am I good or what? And I'm the only one who _didn't_ bring a magnifying glass!” 

Fiddleford laughed. “That's definitely ironic. Nice job, Stan.” 

“Wait,” Ford said, before Stan could get all gooey over the praise. He pulled a paper out of his jacket, unfolded it, and held it up to the rock. He scribbled on the paper with his pen so that the symbols appeared in bas relief on the paper. “I knew it – these aren't the same symbols at all!” 

Stan's face fell. “Oh.” 

“No, no, that's great! Well not _great_ , but it's not terrible, either.” Ford waved his arms. As he did so Stan noticed that there was a beam of blue light almost directly over the symbols. Ford's hand nearly swiped into it. “This could lead to any number of hypotheses – did the lines of text move around the rock like living organisms? Did they change on their own? Are the rocks some kind of magical computer, recording or playing back an ancient –”

“Whoa there,” Stan said, grabbing Ford's arm. “Let's not end up with five and a _half_ fingers, huh?” 

Ford looked at the beam of blue light, blinking in surprise. “That wasn't there before...” 

“The sun,” Fiddleford said, pointing. “Let's back up a bit. As scientists, it's important to be cautious.” 

They backed up just in time. The blue light lowered and then hit the base of the rock – and the line of symbols vanished. 

“Um...am I the only one who saw that?” Stanley asked. 

Ford moved as close as he could without touching the light. “Fiddleford, quick, gimme your glasses!” 

“You know I can't really see without –”

“Just for a second, come on!” 

Fiddleford handed them over. Ford put them on over his own – Stan quickly tried to work out whether that could be called “Six-Eyes” or “Eight-Eyes” and got a headache – and Ford held up the magnifying glass and peered closely. 

“I knew it,” he said softly. Then louder, “I knew it, I knew it, I _knew it!_ ” 

“Hey, me too!” Stan said sarcastically. 

Fiddleford tapped his shoulder. “Uh, Ford –”

Stanford leaped to his feet, spinning around and grabbing their shoulders excitedly. “ _I knew it!_ The light shrinks the lines, and when the sun moves so that the magenta light hits the rock, I'll bet you anything it makes the lines of text big enough to read again!” 

“Fascinating,” said Fiddleford, and plucked his glasses off of Ford's face. 

Ford was so excited he didn't seem to notice. “The question is, why doesn't the light shrink or enlarge the rock itself? Why only the line of text? The crystals do grow straight from the rock – perhaps the rocks are immune to the magical effects of the crystals? But then why would indentations on the rock be susceptible? Could it have to do with the nature of the message?” 

Stan snapped his fingers. “Yo, Ford, breathe.” 

Ford, who had slowly been turning blue, inhaled mightily. 

Fiddleford was gazing around at the other rocks. “It's possible the line of text you came here to find was shrunk as a blue light hit it,” he said. “But my question is...exactly how many lines of text are there? If the first line of text shrunk so much we couldn't even find it, then this whole clearing could be full of secret messages.” 

Stanley groaned. “Ooooh, I wish you hadn't said that. We're gonna be here all day, aren't we.” 

Ford's eyes were alight with a crazy glow. “Stanley, that is _brilliant_. Of _course_ we'd have to be here for at least twenty-four hours so that we can observe the rock at all angles of the light, to make absolutely sure that we don't miss a single line of text! Who knows what this writing could say once we manage to decode it? It could be anything – hidden knowledge, a prophecy, the secret to time travel! For all we know, the very key to decoding it is engraved in one of these rocks _right now!_ We must make immediate preparations for a 24-hour campout!” 

Fiddleford stepped back and raised his hands to a T-shape. “Whoa, back up there, Stanford. I gotta be home by eight. I can ask my dad about having a sleepover, but he likes me to do that a day in advance. We could always do it tomorrow – that's Summerween, anyway, so it'd be normal for us to be out late.” 

Stan raised an eyebrow. “Summer-weenie? Is that like some kinda lame barbeque?” 

“No, it's –”

“This can't wait a whole _day!_ ” Ford objected, obviously upset. “Not when we're _this close_ to unlocking what could be the biggest mystery of Gravity Falls!” 

“Yeeeaaah, we didn't pack enough snacks for that,” Stan said. “Actually, we didn't pack _any_ snacks. Or stuff to make a fire. Or tents. Or tasers. Probably be a good idea to actually pack supplies so we don't end up dog chow for wild animals.”   
Fiddleford shivered. 

Ford groaned. “Fine, fine. Lemme just sketch a quick map of the area and mark which rocks have writing on them. That way I can develop a strategy to make a thorough survey of the area when we _do_ return.” 

Stan was pretty sure that was nerdspeak for “I give in, let me go do some science-y thing because I'm still upset.” Sure enough, Ford turned and started sketching the rocks in the journal. He shook his head. The only rocks Stan liked were rocks that were yellow and glittery. Or went on the ends of fancy necklaces. 

He glanced at Fiddleford, who had a weird, almost horrified expression on his face. 

“What, you see a monster?” Stan asked, looking around. 

“No, no, Stanley...” Fiddleford grabbed his arm and lowered his voice to a whisper. “Sunlight hits the earth in different ways in each season. What's visible in winter wouldn't be visible in summer, and vice versa. If Ford ever realized that...” 

_The doofus would want to stake out the place all year._

Stan locked eyes with Fiddleford. “We must never speak of this again.” 

Fiddleford nodded fervently.


	3. Summerween

Mabel borrowed Ria's car and basically kidnapped them all for a “fun exciting mystery ride!” 

By which she apparently meant breaking as many laws as possible on her way into town, and driving so fast Ford thought he might've left his stomach several miles behind. 

She finally screeched to a stop in a handicapped stall. Ford and Stan literally jumped out of the car, but Ria got out all calm like this was just a typical passenger experience. (With Mabel, it probably was.) 

“Welcome to the Summerween Superstore!” Mabel shouted, throwing her arms wide. 

Ford, who was currently checking to make sure all his limbs were intact, looked up. They'd stopped in front of a creepy-looking store with a giant rubber bat on top. A green banner with red drippy letters hung over the door, reading _Summerween Superstore_. 

Ford stared at it. “Wait...summer-what?” 

“Summerween!” Mabel whipped out her _Porky the Teacup Pig_ calendar. A date in June had been circled in red. “The people of this town love Halloween so much, they celebrate it twice a year. And wouldn't you know it, it's today!” 

“Do you always carry that calendar in your –”

“ALL THE TIME!” 

Stan looked dubious. “'Summerween'? Something about this feels unnatural...but there's free candy so who cares! Onward, Poindexter!” He grabbed Ford's hand and they raced into the store. 

The place was loaded with Halloween stuff. Fake scimitars, swords, miniature skulls, robotic-talking-head skulls, banners, barrels of blood, fake clown noses, fake wart noses, fake noses that whistled _Thriller_ when you breathed through them...it was every kid's dream. 

Stan jumped into the nearest wagon. “TO THE COSTUME AISLE!” He shouted, and Ford laughed and started pushing him as fast as he could. Halloween was _literally_ the best thing ever created, tailor-made for kids like Ford – the one day of the year they could actually fit in. 

They shot past Ria in the candy aisle and went straight to the racks of clothes on the far end of the store. Pirates, Doctors, Astronauts, Vampires – they could be whatever they wanted!

Stan lurched to the side so fast the wagon almost overturned. “Hey, hey, go back – check this out!” He grabbed a costume on a nearby rack. “Lookit, it's a giant bat with wings! You think we could climb up roofs and go sky-diving with these babies?” 

Ford peered closer. “Wow, that's a really well-made costume. It even comes with the head. In fact...is it just me, or is it brea–”

“HOO-HOO-HA-HA!” 

They jumped and looked over. Ria had walked in front of the talking skulls, and apparently the ones on the bottom shelf were motion-sensitive. 

“Sorry,” Ria said, heading for the register, her arms full of candy. “Oh, wait! I forgot the Mershey's bars!” 

She turned and hurried back. 

“HOO-HOO-HA-HA!” 

“Oh, wait, I have those already.” She turned back to the register. 

“HOO-HOO-HA-HA!” 

“Aw, but I could always use more!” 

“HOO-HOO-HA-HA!” 

“Ma'am,” said the cashier. “Could you please walk around the aisles.” 

“I'm sorry, sorry, of course –” She turned and tripped in front of the skulls. The candy scattered over the floor and she crawled around picking it up. 

“HOO-HOO-HA-HA! HOO-HOO-HA-HA!”

Mabel ran over, a huge can of fake blood loaded on her back. 

“HOO-HOO-HA-HA!” 

“Oh, here, Ria, let me help you!” She bent down and the can rolled off her back and cracked on the floor. It oozed fake blood. “Uh-oh, I think this one's leaking!” 

“Here's a mop!” Ford said, grabbing one from a custodian's bucket. He started wiping the floors. 

“HOO-HOO-HA-HA! HOO-HOO-HA-HA! HOO-HOO-HA-HA!” 

Stan jumped out of the wheelbarrow. “Here, I wanna help!” 

“You just wanna stuff all the candy in your pockets,” Ford laughed. Stan slip-slid on the fake-bloody floor, body-slammed into Ford, and they crashed straight into a huge pile of carved watermelon-lanterns. They burst out laughing. 

“HOO-HOO-HA-HA! HOO-HOO-HA-HA! HOO-HOO-HA-HA!” 

The PA system clicked on. “We apologize for the inconvenience. The police have been called to eject the Pines family from the premises. Have a nice day!” 

“Uh-oh – RUN!” Mabel shouted. They scrambled out the door, Stanley grabbing an armful of candy on the way. 

“Hey!” the cashier shouted. “You have to pay for tha–”

“NOT TODAY!” 

Stan grabbed a glitter-bomb from Mabel's jacket and chucked it at the woman. The four of them dove into Ria's car and Mabel sped away, all covered in fake blood, watermelon bits, and floor lint. Mabel backed up, knocked over a telephone pole, then zoomed away so fast Ford was knocked into Stanley, still laughing. 

“Man,” Stanley shouted, throwing up his candy like confetti in the car. “Summerween is _awesome!_ ” 

 

Unfortunately, leaving so fast meant that Stan and Ford didn't get to pick out a costume. But they'd been making their own costumes since they were eight, so that wasn't a problem. Plus Grauntie Mabel offered to do high-quality face paint for them, which would make their costumes even better. 

The two of then spread out over a dozen magazines on the living room carpet, trying to pick what to dress up as this year. The problem was they were too excited to actually sit down and pick something. 

“What do you think the candy's gonna be like?” Stan asked eagerly, bouncing on the armchair.

“In a town this weird?” Ford grinned. “We're probably gonna get mutant jelly beans or gummi bears with three heads!” 

“YEAH! Bring on the extra sugar!” 

“We're gonna have the best costumes, get the most candy –”

“And have the biggest stomach ache ever!” Stan finished. He body-slammed Ford and they rolled around on the magazines, laughing. 

“Did someone say 'candy'?” Ria stepped into the living room, a bowl of candy in her arms. She was dressed as a Renaissance maiden, with her hair in a long side braid threaded with thin gold ribbons that matched the trim on her dark brown dress. She smiled at them. “I have never seen the two of you so excited!” 

“This is our all-time favorite holiday!” Ford said excitedly. 

Stan nodded vigorously. “Totally! We can stay up late –”

“Wear awesome costumes –”

“– get candy for free –”

“– and be the ultimate trick-or-treating kings!” Ford shouted. Immediately he started chanting, and Stanley joined in: “ _Kings of New Jersey! Kings of New Jersey!_ ” 

Ria smiled again, setting down the candy on the floor and sitting next to them. “Just be careful you don't run into the Summerween Trickster.” 

Stan blinked. “The Summerween what-what?” 

Ria pulled a flashlight out of the bowl of candy and flicked it on, holding it under her chin. Ford and Stanley leaned in, ready for a good ghost story. 

“Halloween has always been a night for ghouls and goblins. Especially... _the Summerween Trickster._ ” 

The lights seemed to dim. Ria's cheeks lit up with the flashlight's glow, casting her eyes into shadow. 

“The Trickster goes door to door, so the legend goes,” she whispered. “Eating children who lack the Summerween spirit.”

Stan sat back. “Huh. Well, you don't have to worry about us. We got spirit to go around!” He casually popped a candy into his mouth – and immediately gagged. “Ugh, what is this stuff?! I've never even heard of these brands!” 

Ford picked up a few pieces of candy. “'Sand Pop'? 'Gummi Chairs'? 'Mr. Adequate Bar'?” 

Stan grunted with disgust. “This is all cheap-o old loser candy!” 

Ria picked up a chocolate kiss-me chocolate mouth wrapped in red foil. “Quiet your discontent, children, lest the Trickster overhear!” 

“ _Forget Trickster. The Stanley is not pleased,_ ” Stan said in Spanish.

Ford grabbed the bowl. “Hang on, I'll go dump it.” He headed to the kitchen and started throwing it out the window into the trashcans outside. He pictured the magazines they'd been looking at and tried to decide on the costumes they should make. _Hmm...maybe we could go as a scientist and a chupacabra..._

The doorbell rang. 

“Trick-Or-Treaters!” Mabel called excitedly. “Quick! Give 'em that terrible candy!” 

Ford shrugged, grabbed the bowl and went to the door. “Happy Summer– WHA!” 

Seandra and Aaron Anker stood in the doorway, Aaron's arm slung across her shoulders. Seandra was dressed as a skeleton with black jeans and a black tank under a white T-shirt. She'd cut holes in the shirt to make it resemble a ribcage, and there was even a felt pink heart sewn onto the black tank. 

Aaron was dressed in all black with glowsticks taped to his arms, chest, and legs. With the lights off he'd look like a very buff glowstick figure. It was so cool Ford hated it. 

“'Sup, dude,” Seandra said, stepping in. She reached for the coatrack. “Just stopping by to grab my jacket.” 

“Hey, what's with the candy?” Aaron said, a sneer in his voice. “You going trick-or-treating or something?” 

“W-well, actually, I, uh...” 

Seandra rolled her eyes. “Come on, Aaron, of course he's not going trick-or-treating.” 

Ford laughed nervously, his voice too high. “No, yeah, of course I'm not going trick-or-treating! That stuff is for babies...I guess...” He was starting to feel sweaty. 

“You should come to this party with us,” Seandra said, smiling. “Janice's parents are out of town and it's gonna be off the _chain._ ” 

Aaron waved a bright-orange flyer in Ford's face. “Not surprised _you_ didn't hear about it.” He dropped the flyer and Ford caught it in one hand on reflex. 

The two of them were already out the door by the time Ford finished reading it. He dashed onto the porch. “Hey guys, wait!” he called. 

Aaron had apparently borrowed his family's news van. Seandra leaned out the passenger window and smiled at him as Aaron got in. 

“Maybe I'll see you at the party,” Ford said, waving the flyer. 

“If you're not too busy playing dress-up,” Aaron smirked. 

Seandra jabbed him with an elbow. “It's at nine!” she called as Aaron hit the gas. “Don't forget!” 

Ford watched them until they were out of sight. Then he looked down at the flyer in one hand, and the bowl of candy in the other. He groaned. _What am I gonna tell Stanley?_

 

Luckily Grauntie Mabel distracted Stanley by enlisting everyone in helping her decorate the Shack to look like a haunted house, complete with several real tombstones (Ford didn't ask). She was _really_ into Halloween, and she even said she went trick-or-treating right up until last year – something about sending a small boy into therapy. So this year she was staying home to scare the kids from her own front porch. She called it “initiating the innocent young minds in the ways of all things cool and creepy.” 

Afterward, Ford holed up in the attic while Mabel did Stanley's makeup. Ford's costume didn't require make-up, so it wasn't suspicious that he wasn't downstairs. He wanted to avoid putting off the moment as long as possible...now he knew how Stan felt about facing Bud Gleeful. He tried to distract himself by figuring out what to wear for the party. 

 

The doorbell rang while Mabel was putting the finishing touches on Stan's makeup. 

“Perfect timing!” she said with a grin, dabbing his nose playfully. “Let's get your costume on and get this party started!” 

Stanley was going as an alien. Mabel had painted Stan's hands, face, and even his ears a bright green, and he'd made an alien suit out of tinfoil, but the _really_ cool part was the bit Ford had designed himself – they'd made a wearable spaceship using the a clear plastic umbrella taped to a round piece of cardboard. There were small holes in the umbrella to fit his arms through so he could hold his candy bucket. 

Stanley ran to the door and threw it wide open. “TADA!” he shouted. 

Carla and Fiddleford stood on the porch, identical looks of admiration on their faces. 

“ _Wow!_ ” Fiddleford exclaimed, peering closer for a better look. He was dressed as some kinda nerdy scientist, with a white lab coat, a bright red bow tie, and a trick-or-treat bucket shaped like planet earth. “Stanley, that costume looks amazing!” 

“You're definitely the cutest alien I've ever seen,” Carla agreed. 

He grinned. Carla was dressed as a hot dog, with a little fake tiara on top and a glittery wand in her hand, like a hotdog fairy. “And you're definitely the most delicious-looking hot dog,” he said. 

Mabel appeared behind him, dressed as a glittery purple witch. “Ew, Stanley, don't be weird,” she scolded, tapping on the umbrella. 

“Don't tap the glass, fish hate it when you do that!” Stan said, batting at the plastic from the inside. 

“Hey, where are those other friends of yours? Gordo and Roman?” Mabel asked. 

Stanley shrugged. “They got grounded for shaving a rubber duck playing with a paddle ball into Mr. Lopez' St. Bernard.” 

Mabel laughed and went to get more candy as Carla and Fiddleford came inside. 

“So are we gonna get this party started or what?” Carla asked. 

“Yeah, is Ford coming with us?” asked Fiddlenerd. 

“Sure, sure, he's upstairs getting ready He's got the best nerd-science-costume ever!” Stan rushed to the bottom of the stairs and shouted, “HEY, FORD! CARLA AND THE NERD ARE HERE, TIME'S A WASTIN'!” 

“Excuse _me_ ,” Fiddleford said indignantly. 

Stan ignored him, watching excitedly for his brother. Ford finally appeared at the top of the stairs and came down wearing...his usual clothes. 

“That's a very good nerd costume,” Carla deadpanned. 

Fiddleford groaned. “Not you, too.” 

Stanley, however, was looking Ford up and down and frowning. “What the hey-hey, bro-bro, where's your costume?” Ford was supposed to be the scientific investigator with a telescope who spotted the UFO. He was gonna spike up his hair to show surprise and wear a nerdy trench coat with a sweater vest underneath. Stanley had even finally given him the telescope from the secret tomb to complete the look. 

Ford fidgeted. “Look, uh, I can't go trick-or-treating. I'm, uh, really sick.” He faked a cough. 

“You don't sound too good,” Fiddleford said worriedly. 

Stan scowled. “You are totally faking it, so get your butt upstairs and get changed.” He turned Ford around and pushed him towards the stairs. “Get going, we got candy to collect!” 

“No, seriously!” Ford insisted. “Must've been that bad candy. You go on without me!” He collapsed dramatically to the floor. 

Stan put his hands on his hips. “You've got, like, fifty tells right now. Is there some reason you don't want to come or what?” 

Someone pounded on the door and Ford hurried to answer it, while Stanley glared at his back. 

A huge guy stood on the porch, all thick in the middle with long spindly limbs. Looked like he was dressed as some kind of weird scarecrow – he had ratty patchwork jacket, a wide-brimmed hat, and a weird smiley-face mask. 

“Trick or treat,” he rasped. 

“Dude, really?” Ford looked him up and down. “You're a little old for this, man. Sorry.” He stepped back and shut the door. 

“Why'd you close the door?” Stan asked. “We gotta get rid of that nasty candy or Mabel will make us eat it!” 

“I told you, Stanley, I'm just not feeling it tonight!” He coughed for effect. 

“I think a little trick-or-treating will make you feel better,” Stan said firmly. 

“I'm _not_ trick-or-treating!” 

The guy knocked again. Before Stanley could say anything, Ford opened it, told the guy to go away, and slammed it shut. 

“That wasn't very nice,” Fiddleford said, frowning slightly. 

“Yeah!” Stan added. “I don't wanna eat that stuff!” 

The guy pounded on the door. 

“I'm not getting that,” said Ford. 

“Well _I_ am.” Stanley grabbed the bowl of candy sitting by the wall and opened the door. “Here man, take the whole bowl.” 

“ _SILENCE!_ ” 

Stanley jumped and staggered back as the guy leaned down at him. Fiddleford yelped and Carla grabbed his arm and yanked Stan back. “Hey!” Stan said. “How 'bout some personal space, here?” 

“ _YOU HAVE INSULTED ME! And for this you must pay..._ ” 

“I _said_ you could take the candy,” Stan said angrily. “And it's _free_ , dude, that's how this works.” 

“ _...with your lives_.” 

The guy shoved his face inches from Stan's. Even if his limbs were really long and spidery, the smily face looked especially cheerful up close. 

“Well that's a cute little mask,” Carla said, relaxing her grip a little. 

“ _Cute, am I?_ ” The guy stepped inside, so tall his hunched back scraped the ceiling. They were forced to step back. Stan held out one arm to protect Ford as Carla clung to his other arm. He didn't dare turn to check on Fiddlenerd, but he assumed from the weird squeaky noises that the dork was still in one piece. 

Suddenly a cutesy little voice came from outside, and a pudgy pirate kid stepped into view. “Twick-or-tweat!” sang the boy. “My name is Gorney!” 

The crazy guy turned, grabbed Gorney by the head, and popped him into his mouth like an oversized marshmallow. 

“NOT AGAAAAIN!” Gorney cried, and the guy's mouth snapped shut. 

They screamed. 

“Gorney!” Fiddleford called, his face white as a ghost. 

“ _There's only one way to avoid his fate,_ ” said the monster, tapping Carla on the head. She whimpered and ducked behind Stanley. “ _I_ need _a treat. If you can collect 500 piece of candy, and bring them to me by the time the last jack-o-lantern goes out..._ ” The guy pulled a jack-o-lantern from inside his jacket and lit it with his thumb. He paused, then blew it out. Stan suppressed a shiver. “ _...I will let you live._ ” 

“Five hundred treats in one night?!” Ford repeated. “That's impossible!” 

“ _The choice is yours, children,_ ” rasped the monster, stepped backwards towards the door. “ _You must trick-or-treat...or die._ ” He leaped straight up onto the roof.

Fiddleford fainted. 

The rest of them ran outside and watched the the monster crawl, spider-like, over the roof and out of sight, laughing a creepy laugh. 

“Omigosh, Stanley,” Ford said. “Do you realize what this means?” 

Stanley nodded seriously. “I do. It means...you have to come trick-or-treating with us! WOOHOO!” 

 

They stuffed some of Mabel's expired perfume under Fiddleford's nose to wake him up. Then they gathered on the porch. 

“Who was that guy?” Carla asked. 

“It's that legend Ria told us about!” Stanley grabbed Ford's shoulder and shook it. “Remember, Ford? The Summerween Trickster! It's true!” 

“Whaddowedo, whaddowedo?!” Fiddleford asked shrilly. 

“Calm down, everyone,” Ford said, pushing Stanley's hands away. 

Ria came onto the porch. “What is going on out here? Why haven't you all gone trick-or-treating yet?” 

“A monster's making us trick-or-treat or else he's gonna eat us!” Stanley said brightly. 

Carla nodded. “It's true – I got a picture!” She held up her phone. She had indeed taken a picture of the monster, and decorated it with a hearts-and-stars filter. 

“It is the Summerween Trickster!” Ria exclaimed. “Oh, dear, you four are in extremely bad pookie-dook!” 

Ford started pacing. “How are we gonna get that much candy in one night? There's no way!” 

Stanley climbed on a tombstone and planted his feet, hands on his hips. “Alright, people, listen up!” he shouted. “Now _some_ might say that being cursed by a bloodthirsty holiday monster is a bad thing!”

“I wet myself,” Fiddleford nodded.

“But that monster messed with the _wrong crew._ ” He punched one hand with the other for emphasis. “With Ford's genius, Carla's cuteness, Ria's driver's license, and Fiddleford's...uh, bowtie. We're gonna collect 500 pieces of candy and then smack him over the head with it until he agrees to leave us alone! Even if it takes all night!” He punched his fist in the air and they cheered. 

Only Ford looked all prune-faced. “All night?” he repeated, crinkling something papery in his jacket pocket. 

Stan jumped down. “Look, Ford, what's worse: getting eaten by a smiley-faced monster, or trick-or-treating with us?” 

“Well...” 

“Ugh, come on.” He grabbed his brother's hand and dragged him towards Ria's car. 

 

Mabel checked her reflection in the mirror by the front door. The cool part about being a wrinkly old lady was that she barely needed any makeup at all to look like a warty old crone. (Although she didn't have any warts, so those she'd had to add on.) Her outfit was a Mabel Masterpiece: a pointy black had covered in black lace with patterns of worms and maggots; a long dark-purple dress embroidered with patterns of butterflies, bats, and chopped-off toes; and a matching cloak fringed with lace that looked exactly like dripping black blood. 

She struck a pose. “You, Mabel Pines, are to _die for._ ” 

She peeked out the window in the front door. A fresh batch of kiddies was approaching – a daisy, a bunny, a princess, a mummy, and a one-eyed G.I. Joe. She hid herself and cackled. She loved initiating people in the delicious terrors of Summerween! 

The doorbell rang. 

“Trick-or-Treat!” 

Mabel opened the door, smiling. “Good evening, kids! What can I do for y– oh...” She paused, shuddering dramatically. “Oh no...no... _waaaagh!_ ” Her face literally melted off, leaving only a warty skull behind. 

The kids screamed and ran for the street as fast as their little legs could carry them. 

Mabel removed the skull mask, holding her stomach from laughing so hard. Then she looked down and noticed the mummy and the G.I. Joe were still standing on the porch. 

“Can we have candy now?” the pirate asked, sounding rather bored. 

Mabel sputtered. “Uh, _hello?!_ That was the scariest thing you've ever seen, right?!” 

The kids looked at each other. The mummy waved his hand in a so-so gesture. 

She sighed. “Alright, fine, I guess I'll go get the can–” She turned and shrieked. A girl with black hair dragged over her faces phased through the walls, her T-shirt ripped and stained with blood. She turned her sightless eyes on Mabel. More blood dripped from her mouth. 

Mabel screamed and turned to run, but another girl phased through the wall on the other side of the door. Before she could react, the girls phased into Mabel. She grabbed for her face, clawing at her eyes. Suddenly she gave a shuddering gasp and went rigid. Then, slowly, she turned to face the boys, her eyes gone dead white, her mouth stained with crimson. 

The mummy whistled. “Heeeey, not bad, lady!” 

Mabel blinked. The projectors on the roof shorted out and Mabel took the contacts out of her eyes. 

“You're _seriously_ not scared?” 

“Seriously,” they said. 

“We've been watching horror movies since we were like, two years old,” the G.I. Joe explained. “So...candy?” 

“Hmmm...” Mabel stroked her chin. “Since you were two, eh? Then I bet you guys must know a lot of good horror prank ideas.” 

They nodded, and she grinned at them. 

“Alright kids, I got a deal for you...” 

 

Bats flew through the night and the streets were practically swarming with trick-or-treaters. Ford saw vikings, talking fish, pirates, red-hatted plumbers, ballerinas, pirates, flowers, a couple of Frankensteins, and pirates. He even saw the two cops dressed up as Santa Clauses. 

The five of them walked through the neighborhood. Ria had gone with them as their chaperone. Ford pushed the wheelbarrow they'd stolen from the Summerween Superstore. “I still don't understand why we can't just go back and buy the candy,” he grumbled. “Or even steal it, since apparently you're allergic to paying for things.” 

“That sort of takes the fun out of 'Trick-or-Treat or Die,'” Stan said. 

“I'm trying to take the 'die' out of 'Trickor-Treat or Die.” He glanced at Fiddleford. “Back me up here.” 

Fiddleford held up his world-shaped bucket. “Hey, Ford, I agree that that's the safest thing to do. But this is kind of my first Summerween ever. I at least wanna do a little trick-or-treating with my friends.” 

They went up to Crazy Cat Lady's house. Stan rang the doorbell. 

“Trick-or-Treat!” they chorused. 

She opened the door. She was dressed up as a huge ball of yarn, and three of her million cats clung to her costume, trying to bat their paws at the loose yarn ends. 

“Well aren't you just the cutest. And is everybody in costume?” She pointed to each of them in turn, starting with Ria. “Fancy Pilgrim...Vertical Hamburger...Clown in Formal Wear...Quarantined Plague Victim...” She stopped at Ford. “Oh, and what're you supposed to be?” 

“Actually, I'm not dressed up as anything,” Ford said shortly. “We're kind of in a hurry, here.” 

Her expression soured. “Ooooh, I see.” 

She put one candy in each of their baskets, then shouted “ _Enjoy!_ ” and slammed the door in their faces. 

Stan looked at his bag in disgust. “One piece of black licorice?”

Carla held hers up. “She gave me a peanut?! That's not even a candy!” 

“It is if you're an elephant,” Ria pointed out. 

“ _Four pieces of candy!?_ ” Ford looked at the wheelbarrow in horror. The thing suddenly looked five times as deep and wide. “This is gonna take forever!” 

Stanley put his hands on his hips. “I _told_ you, we gotta up our game! You gotta go put on your costume. I even gave you that awesome telescope!” 

“I told you I'm not up for it Stanley!” He coughed to prove it. 

“You are _so_ not fooling anyone,” Stan started, but before he could say something else, a raspy voice reached their ears. 

“ _Oh really?_ ” 

Ford jumped. They turned and saw the Summerween Trickster sitting on top of the nearest streetlamp. The bulb in the lamp flickered, casting eerie shadows over his long black limbs. 

It stepped – literally stepped, because its legs were so long – from the top of the lightpost onto Ria's shoulders, hunching over her to pluck the candy out of her bucket. She shuddered and started to sweat. 

“ _Hmm...I've seen better._ ” 

“You leave her alone!” Stanley shouted, leaping for the monster and swinging his bucket. The monster leaped nimbly out of the way, and Stan's empty back thwacked Ria in the head. 

“Oops – sorry, Ria.” 

The monster laughed, scooping up a jack-o-lantern and leaping to the nearest rooftop. “ _Tick tock_ ,” it whispered, and blew out the candle. Then it vanished into the shadows. 

Fiddleford looked even paler than usual. “You know, I think we should just buy candy. Does anyone else have a few hundred dollars on them?” 

Stanley looked at Ford. “So what was that about being too sick to wear a costume?” 

Ford groaned. 

 

Mabel, Mummy, and G.I. Joe (she hadn't actually bothered to learn their names) crouched behind the front door, giggling. 

“Did we set everything up right?” Mabel whispered.

Mummy nodded, grinning widely. “Oh, yeah. Now we just gotta answer the door and wait for the magic to happen.” 

They didn't have long to wait. A knock came at the door, followed by a chorus of little angel voices calling, “Trick or Treat!” 

“Coming!” Mabel sang. She stood up, opened the door, and stepped out, a bag of candy in her hand. “Perfect timing! I have all the candy you could ever –”

Suddenly a trap door opened in the porch and Mabel fell through it, screaming. The children shrieked and stared in horror as she vanished into the pitch-black tunnel. There was a long, horrible moment of screaming – and then a heavy, organic splat and red fluid squirted from the depths, spattering the children. They ran away screaming their heads off. 

Mabel stepped out from behind the door. The Mummy was right – they'd rigged the mirrors just right and the G.I. Joe had set up the ketchup bottle in the perfect place. 

“That was _amazing!_ ” she squealed, and they grinned at her. 

“Lady, you ain't seen nothin' yet!” 

 

“Introducing, for the first time in public...” Stanley waved an arm grandly. “TA-DA!! Nerd-Boy the UFO Nut!” 

“It's called a UFologist,” Ford grumbled. His hair was spiked up with hair gel, he wore a decidedly nerdy sweater-vest under a beige trench coat, and he fidgeted nervously with his telescope. He'd liked the telescope so much he'd designed his whole costume around it, but now he was sort of regretting not going as a second alien. If he _had_ to Trick-or-Treat, he'd at least want a costume that hid his hands. 

Fiddleford, however, seemed to like it. He looked Ford up and down, grinning and nodding his approval. “Not bad, not bad. The hair and the telescope are perfect.” 

“Pose for a photo!” Carla chirped, and before Ford could stop her she snapped a picture with her phone. 

He flinched. “That better not end up online!” He checked his watch: 7:01. There was still time if they hurried. “Let's just get this over with, okay?” 

Ria and Carla started chanting. “ _O-ver with! O-ver with!_ ” 

“Alright, troops!” Stan said, steering Ford towards the next house. “Time for Round Two!” 

They rang the doorbell. Leather Vest answered the door, a bowl of candy in his hand. 

Stan immediately posed as if he was controlling the instruments of a UFO, making weird beep-boop noises. Ford posed as if he were seeing Stanley through is telescope and freaking out so badly that his hair had spiked up on its own. He even gave a little shriek for dramatic effect. 

Leather Vest burst out laughing. “That's the best I've ever _seen!_ ” he said, wiping a tear from his eye. “Here – take it all!” He dumped the whole bowl into Stanley's bag. 

“WOOHOO, FREE SUGAR!” Stanley shouted. “C'mon, guys, we got a neighborhood to fleece!” 

They split up, going to house after house while Ria pushed the wheelbarrow. Ford and Stan's costume worked best together, so they formed one team while Carla and Fiddleford formed the other. Stan taught them how to watch the other trick-or-treaters to figure out which houses gave out the most candy. Any house that gave out a lot at once, they all four hit together. 

Ria kept track of the candies as they dumped them in. “Fifty-one, fifty-two, fifty-three...” 

They ran to every house on every block – Stan even insisted on pounding on doors that didn't have a porch light on until someone showed up. Then he'd threaten to keep banging on the door until they gave him whatever candy they had. Ford had to admit, it worked, although one guy chased them off the lawn with a rake. 

“Two hundred eighty-nine, two hundred ninety, two hundred ninety-one...” 

Ford heard exactly twenty-seven kinds of doorbells, including one that been programmed to play a banjo solo and got louder the longer you pressed it. (That one was Fiddleford's house, of course.) 

“Three hundred, three hundred one, three hundred two...”

“Guys! The jack-o-lanterns!” Carla shouted. 

They stopped and looked around. They didn't realize how late it had gotten, but nearly everyone on the street had come out to blow the flames out of their jack-o-lanterns. 

“We gotta hurry, come on!” Ford shouted, and all five of them ran to the next house. They rang the doorbell and a man stepped out, wearing a black feathery one-piece with a horrible pale mask, the eyes bloodshot, the nose disturbingly piglike. 

“AAAAH!” they screamed. 

“What a horrible mask!” Carla cried. 

Thompson sighed. “Guys. It's just my face. _This_ is the mask, see?” He put on a mask that had pure white skin, thick black lips, and yellow eyes with red pupils rimmed with black. He affected a hoarse voice and said, “ _I'm able to see your name and lifespan right now...but there's no way I'd ever tell you that._ ” 

“Oh,” Stan said, relaxing. “Oh, yeah, that's much better.” 

Thompson sighed. 

Three houses later they dumped the last bits of candy into the wheelbarrow and counted them up. 

“Four ninety eight, four ninety-nine,” Ria said. “We did it!” 

They cheered. 

“All we need is one more piece of candy!” Fiddleford said. 

“Yeah!” Stan shouted. “Then we can put it in burlap sacks and whack the Trickster in the skull!” 

“And it's only 8:30,” Ford said, checking his watch. “Perfect timing!” 

Stan punched him in the arm. “Dude! I _told_ you you'd have fun trick-or-treating!” 

Ria smiled. “I am going to go around and grab the truck. Don't talk to strangers while I'm gone!” 

Stan rolled his eyes. “We've been doing that, like, _all night_. C'mon, guys! Last one to the final house is a pair of wax lips!” 

Carla and Fiddleford whooped and ran after him. 

Ford stayed with the wheelbarrow, smiling with satisfaction. _It_ was _pretty fun trick-or-treating. And now we'll get back in time for me to go to Seandra's party, without them ever knowing I was acting like a kid. This is perfect!_

Suddenly the squeal of a car engine caught his ear. He turned and saw Aaron's van heading straight for him. 

He gasped and looked down – the candy, the wheelbarrow, they'd figure out he wasn't just trick-or-treating but doing it all night! He shoved it, the trench coat, and the telescope into the bushes and tried to quickly comb down his hair. 

The van pulled up next to him and Seandra leaned out. “Hey, Ford! What're you doing out here?” 

He tried to act casual. “Oh hey, Seandra! What's up?” 

“Are you coming to the party?” 

Aaron leaned over, disdain written all over his face. “What're you doin' out here? Bet you the kid was trick-or-treating,” he muttered to Seandra. 

“What? No I wasn't! I was – just watching the other trick-or-treaters!” He laughed nervously and tried to stuff his hands in his jacket before he remembered that he was wearing a sweater vest. He hid them behind his back. “Y-yeah, just reminds me of when I was a kid, that's all. But no, yeah, I'm on my way to the party.” 

“Cool, so you're still coming?” Seandra asked. 

“Definitely, definitely!” Was he sweating too much? He was sure he was sweating too much. 

“Sweet! See you there.” 

The van screeched off. He waved, smiling what he hoped look like a very suave, confident, manly smile. 

“You're going to a party?” 

Ford jumped and turned around, his face getting hot. Stanley stood under a streetlamp, alone, his face was almost perfectly blank. Ford's stomach burned. 

“Stanley! W-well, uh, I –”

A _Blorch_ bar hit him square in the face. 

“ _That's_ why you were acting all weird and trying to hurry us!” Stan shouted, as Carla and Fiddleford walked up. “This whole time, you were planning to _ditch_ me! On our _favorite holiday!_ ” 

“Uh, technically our favorite holiday is _Halloween_ , so...” 

“Dude,” Fiddleford said, uncharacteristically grim. “That's lame.” 

“See?!” Stanley gestured angrily, marching over to Ford. “Even Fiddleford knows! You don't just _ditch_ people – and where's all the candy?!” 

“Relax, okay?” Ford said, stepping back. “I left it right here, behind this bush.” 

He pulled the shrubbery aside and gasped. 

Apparently the bushes were planted on the very edge of a small cliff that ran right up against the riverbed. The wheelbarrow was at the bottom of the cliff – lying on its side, a few pieces of candy still lying inside it, as most of the candy drifted downstream. 

Stanley shoved him angrily. “WHAT DID YOU _DO?!_ ” 

“I-I-I –”

“GUYS!” Fiddleford screeched. “The candles!” 

They turned. Even as they watched, a jack-o-lantern skeleton suddenly went dark. Ford scanned the streets, but it looked like all the trick-or-treaters had gone home – and every last jack-o-lantern had gone out. 

“Oh, no,” Carla whispered. 

“Wait – THERE!” Stanley pointed. 

Crazy Chu was squatting outside the town dump, cradling the last lit jack-o-lantern in her hands. 

“Hehehe! _Goooood night!_ ” she cackled in Korean. She drew a deep breath. 

“STOP!” Ford shouted, as the four of them sprinted towards her. “DON'T BLOW OUT THAT CANDLE!” 

“Don't do it, don't do it!” Carla shouted. 

Fiddleford waved his hands wildly. “No no no no no no no!” 

Crazy Chu jumped back. “W-what? What's happenin'?” 

“Just don't blow out that candle!” Ford said. 

Crazy Chu took out an old ear trumpet and held it up. “Whaaaat?” 

“ _DON'T BLOW OUT THAT CANDLE!_ ” 

She paused. “I'm Crazy Chu!” she declared, and took a deep breath. 

“Wait – !”

Immediately Stanley kicked her in the back of the knees and she collapsed, hands flailing. Stanley caught the lantern mid-air as Fiddleford caught Crazy Chu so she wouldn't bang her head. She yelped and scrambled away, bounding up the nearest parked car and perching on the Dump's fence like a chipmunk before hopping over. 

“It's still lit,” Ford said, turning the jack-o-lantern to show them. All four of them sighed, deeply relieved. 

Which immediately blew out the candle. 

Fiddleford gulped. “Uh-oh.” 

They looked up. The Summerween Trickster stalked toward them, walking slowly down the street. He stepped into the flickering light of a streetlamp. Slowly, he raised one spindly arm. 

“ _Knock, knock._ ” 

Ford dropped the lantern. 

 

Stan wished he'd picked a different costume. A pirate, a samurai, a G.I. Joe – anything with a weapon. 

The Trickster advanced on them, tapping his long fingers together. The thing was huge – how had he ever thought they could beat it up? They backed into the dump, Carla and Fiddleford each grabbing Stan's arms. They were shaking. 

“ _So, children,_ ” the Trickster rasped. “ _Where's my cannnnndyyyyy?_ ” 

“I swear we had all five hundred pieces,” Ford said quickly. He pointed to the river. “Look! It's down there somewhere! We can still get it.” 

They nodded frantically. 

The Trickster grew even taller, its long legs stretching like stilts until it was as tall as a house. His back hunched and swelled, ripping through his patchwork jacket, and his arms jerked and lengthened even longer than his legs. “ _I'm afraid it's too late,_ ” he said, leaning down. His smiley face huge, looming over Ford. “ _That was your LAST CHANCE!_ ” 

Before Stan could move a muscle, Ford grabbed something from the ground and threw it at the monster's chest – a _Blorch_ bar. It hit dead-center with a satisfying _smack._

The monster looked down. The _Blorch_ bar sank into his chest and disappeared. 

“What the heck?” Stan whispered. 

The monster chuckled, then laughed like murdering them would be the funniest joke in the world. 

Stan grabbed Ford's hand. “ _Go go go go!_ ” 

The four of them ran from the dump. The monster was right behind them. Stan glanced back and almost screamed – the thing had sprouted _another pair of arms from its back!_

Suddenly he tripped and the asphalt gave him a nasty uppercut. Before he could clear his head, the monster grabbed him by the ankle and dragged him back, still laughing. 

“GET OFF ME!” Stan screamed, scraping the ground for purchase, but the thing was inhumanly strong. “ _STANFORD!_ ” 

“Stanley!” Ford stopped short and Stanley wished he hadn't screamed because the Trickster grabbed Ford, and then Fiddleford, then Carla, squeezing them so hard they squeaked. The monster waved them in the air like paper dolls. It lifted Stanley over its face, still laughing. It opened its massive jaws – he could practically see a chewed-up little Gorney inside them – 

Suddenly the monster exploded into gross black clumps. Its hands dissolved and Stanley hit the ground, this time landing with his side, not his face. 

He struggled shakily to his hands and knees. “Wh-what – what –”

“We're alive!” Fiddleford shouted, looking pale but relieved. 

Carla laughed giddily. “Oh my god I thought I was gonna die did you see its fingernails they were so gross I just –”

Stanley looked around. Ford was just sitting there looking stunned, but he seemed okay. 

A noise caught his ear. A car swung a U-turn and came back up the street – it was Ria, and she'd just driven her pick-up truck straight into the monster's guts. 

Stanley sprang to his feet as the car pulled up. “Ria, that was amazing!” 

She got out, looking flustered, wisps of hair escaping her braids. “Are you alright? That wasn't a regular pedestrian, was it? Did I just kill a man?” 

“It was the monster!” Stan shouted. He ran over, the others close behind him. “And you just plowed into it with your car! I gotta try that sometime!” 

“Thanks, Ria,” Ford added. “I'm just glad it's over.” 

_Over._ Like their trick-or-treating together. Stanley's smile faded and he scowled at the car tires. 

Ria hustled them all into the car, Fiddleford grinning and bouncing his knee, Carla talking nonstop, which she liked to do anyway, so they all sorta tuned her out. 

“Everyone put on their seatbelt?” Ria asked. 

They nodded. Stanley, sitting in the front with Ford and Ria, glared at the door handle. But he nodded, too. 

Ria started up the car and began driving them back to the Shack. Before this whole crazy Trickster thing had started, the plan had been for them to go trick-or-treating, then go back to the Shack and watch scary movies while they ate their spoils. Fiddleford and Carla might even spend the night. Only one person, apparently, had made other plans. 

He rubbed his jaw where he'd hit the asphalt. His elbow was stinging, too. Must've banged it when he fell the second time. 

He could feel Ford looking at him. “Hey, are you okay?” he asked. Stan ignored him. “You know, we probably have some bandaids back at the Shack,” he offered. 

Stanley still didn't answer, staring angrily out the window. Five minutes after they got to the Shack, Ford would probably leave to go spend time with that stupid Seandra at that stupid party with stupid teenagers. Summerween _sucked._

He was so mad he didn't notice it at first. Then something flew past the window. Something small, tasteless, and _Blorch-y._

“Uh...guys?” 

The weird lumps of monster-guts were flying past the car, collecting in the road behind them, rising higher and higher. The pile sprouted four spindly limbs with knobby knees and long black fingers, hoisting itself up like a fat-bodied black widow. A hideously cheerful smiley-face oozed from the top and looked straight at Stan. 

“ _RAAAHHH!_ ”

It jumped straight up and they screamed. For just a split-second it hung in the air, silhouetted against the moon like something straight out of a horror movie. Then it landed on their car so hard the roof nearly caved and all the windows cracked. 

“AAAH!” 

“AAAAAH!” 

“WE'RE GONNA DIIIEEE!” 

Fiddleford and Carla grabbed each other and Stan pushed Ford flat on the seat as Ria swerved, trying to throw the monster off the car. It climbed over the windshield, its huge heavy butt forcing the car to dip down. Something caught the fender and they started swinging wildly. There was a nasty _thunk_ as the car hit a telephone pole and the monster was thrown off. Stanley yelled as he almost hit the dash, but Ford's arm shot out and grabbed him around the shoulders and yanked him back. 

The car careened out of control, hitting two trashcans and aiming straight for the Summerween Superstore. 

Ford screamed. “BRAKES BRAKES BRAKES AAAAH!” 

Ria slammed the brakes and the tires burned rubber and they crashed straight through the front doors, shattering the glass and plowing straight into an empty shelf. 

As soon as Stan realized he was still alive, he grabbed frantically for the door and threw himself out of the car, coughing and hacking as the engine blew black smoke. The rest of them piled out of the car, but something made Stanley turn. 

A grinning yellow mask was bobbing towards them in the night. 

“It's the Trickster!” Stan whispered urgently. “We gotta hide!” 

They raced behind the nearest shelf just as the monster heaved its bulbous body into the store. It climbed over the broken glass like it was nothing, breathing heavily and growling under its breath. 

Stan and Ford hid behind a shelf of costumes. He peeked out in time to see the monster literally rip the car's door off its hinges, checking inside. When he realized it was empty, he tossed the door like a tin can and started prowling the store. 

“It's blocking the only exit,” Ford said. He peeked around Stan and then grabbed Stan's hand, pulling him to the next shelf over just in time to avoid being spotted by the monster. They held their breaths as the monster breathed down the aisle, then prowled away. 

They edged around the shelf. Fiddleford, Carla, and Ria were huddled in the same aisle. Ria was standing next to a rack of full-body elf and mummy costumes. Fiddleford was crammed under a shelf of trick-or-treat buckets, and Carla was peeking out from under a pile of witch's hats she'd made on the floor. Stan and Ford scooted into the shelf where the witch hats used to be. 

“Everyone stay quiet,” Ford whispered. 

“Oh _now_ you're worried about the monster,” Stan snapped at him. “I thought all you cared about was Seandra!” 

“Stanley, you _know_ that's not true.” 

The monster scuttled past the aisle. It was crawling on all fours with its elbows and knees sticking out, like a spider with four legs cut off. Stan wished he had a giant boot to squash it with. 

Ford watched it go, then looked down at his knees. “I just – felt like I was getting a little too _old_ for trick-or-treating.” 

“You're only saying that 'cuz you want to go to that dumb party. But this is like, our holiday! We're supposed to spend it together, we've always done that!” 

“I know, but...” 

“You could've at least invited me. You didn't even want me around.” Stan's chest hurt. 

“Stanley...”

The monster roared with frustration, echoing through the store like a seriously angry rhino. 

“We've gotta get outta here,” Fiddleford whispered. 

Carla lifted her head, a pink witch's hat covering her hair. “If we move it'll find us!” 

“It'll find us if we _don't_ move, eventually!” 

Ria rubbed her chin. “If only there was something we could use to cover our bodies and faces with. You know...like a disguise of some sort...” 

They all looked at her. Then at the costumes she was standing next to. Then back at her. 

Seconds later they had quickly changed outfits – Ria wore a giant gorilla costume, and the rest of them wore little Jeh-Die robes with green Yo-Duh masks. Since they matched, if they all stood in line, they looked like a display. 

It worked. As soon as they were changed, they heard the monster coming. They stood perfectly still in the empty costume-shelf space and the monster passed them by without a second glance. 

They scurried to the next shelf, working their way towards the door. The monster walked by them again and this time stopped right in front of Ria, lifting its head and growling like it could smell them...but then it kept going. 

“Okay, this is it!” Ford whispered, and they dashed for the door. 

They'd almost reached it when Fiddleford skidded to a halt. “Wait – Ria, _stop!_ ” 

They looked back. Ria was about to step right in front of the motion-sensitive laughing skulls. 

“Go around, go around!” Ford whispered frantically. 

“But if I go around, the monster will –”

“ _Rrrrr..._ ” 

The four of them dove for shelter under the register and Ria gave a tiny squeak and jumped forward, out of the monster's line of sight – and directly into the path of the skulls. 

Nothing happened. 

Carla sighed with relief. “Must be outta batteries,” she muttered. 

Apparently Ria thought the same thing, because she smiled triumphantly and took another step in front of the second skull. 

“HOO-HOO-HA-HA!” 

The monster's massive shadow enveloped Ria. She slowly turned around, her eyes wide, her mouth slack. 

Stan leaped over the counter. “No – HEY!” 

Too late. Ria stepped back – 

“HOO-HOO-HA-HA!” 

And the monster swallowed her whole. 

 

For the first time all night, Stanley and Stanford acted in perfect sync. They charged to the nearest rack of costumed, grabbed armfuls of rubber weapons and shields, and tossed a few to Carla and Fiddleford, who caught them with grim looks on their faces. 

Ford rounded on the monster, Stanley at his side. 

“HEY MONSTER!” he shouted. 

It turned. 

He whipped out his sword and pointed it. “CHAAAARGE!” 

The four of them ran for the Trickster, yelling battlecries (“ _For science!_ ” yelled Fiddleford). Their swords, scythes, clubs, and death-balls sliced through the air as the monster turned to face them, green saliva dripping in thick ropes from its yellowed teeth. 

“ _RAAAR!_ ” 

Ford hit the ground right in front of the monster and slid on the floor under its belly. He rolled to his feet and started hacking at its back legs with his sword while Stanley tried to bash in its knee with a metal-studded club. When the monster snarled and reached down to hit Stan away, Fiddleford leaped in and cut straight through on the monster's arm with his scythe. Its hand hit the ground in a shower of gritty monster bits. 

Fiddleford paused, licking his lips. “Saltwater taffy? Gross!” 

Ford chopped at the back leg – he was almost through it – but he looked up when he heard Fiddleford. “What're you...” And then he tasted the stuff that had been falling on his face. “Wait, it is!” 

“ _You REALLY haven't figured it out?!_ ” the monster rasped, turning to face Ford with a lurch. It reached out and grabbed him, squeezing the breath from his lungs. It sprouted extra arms and caught Stanley in the same fist with Ford, knocking their heads together. It scooped up Fiddleford and Carla and lifted them several feet in the air. Another arm sprouted from its side and it reached for its smile-face mask. “ _Look at my face! Look...CLOSELY._ ” 

It pulled the mask away. Its face was literally made of candy, with little rolls of candy for eyebrows, small swirly mints for eyes, and red licorice lips with candy corn teeth. 

Stan raised an eyebrow. “You had a mask on, dude. How exactly did you expect us to look at your face?” 

“Wait a minute,” Carla said, looking closer. “All that stuff is – it's loser candy!” 

“ _That's right,_ ” the monster growled. “ _Did you ever stop and think about the candy at the bottom of the bag, that NOBODY LIKES?! Every year, the children of Gravity Falls throw away all of the 'rejected candy' into the Dump._ ” The monster's scowl darkened. Its strawberry-swirl eyes seemed to glow. “ _So I seek revenge. Revenge on the picky children who cast me aside!_ ” 

Ford remembered throwing out the loser candy and winced. Probably would be best if he didn't bring that up. 

The Trickster was starting to turn poetic. “ _I am made of every tossed piece of black licorice_ ,” he said solemnly. A faint pink line appeared in the center of his head, as if his grayish candy skull were splitting apart to show his taffy brains. “ _Every discarded bar of old chocolate, with, like – that white powdery stuff on it, you know that stuff?!_ ” 

“I _hate_ that stuff,” Stan said. 

The monster roared at him. “ _NOBODY would eat me! But now...I'm going to eat YOU._ ” 

He lifted Stan and Ford towards its face. They screamed and grabbed each other, hugging as hard as they could as the monster opened its candy corn maw. 

“ _Gonna eat..._ ” Suddenly the monster stopped and grunted. Its face screwed up like it was about to vomit. “ _Ugh, what is that?_ ” It groaned louder, then howled, writhing in agony. It dropped all four of them to the ground as something burst through its stomach, squealing like a rabid pig. 

Ford fell hard on his butt. For a second he thought the monster had sprouted some kind of supernatural parasite with grubby shovel-sized hands covered in black hair...then he realized it was just Ria, minus the gorilla mask. She pulled herself a little farther out of the monster's gut and looked around serenely, chewing on something. She spotted Stan and Ford. 

“Oh hello, chiquitos,” she said calmly. 

The monster shrieked and projective-vomited defective jelly beans, all lumpy and covered with a hard white powder. It collapsed on the grounds, its long limbs splayed awkwardly, twitching and moaning. Ria sat in the hole she'd made in its gut, which was spilling piles of pink candy. 

“Gross,” Stan said, grabbing Ford's hand to help him up. 

Ria took a mouthful of candy guts and popped it into her mouth, wrappers and all. “Would anyone like some?” she asked, offering up another handful. 

“Uh, no thank you,” Fiddleford said, nonplussed. Candy shook her head, along with Stan and Ford. 

Ria shrugged. “Suite yourselves.” 

The monster managed to lift up its head. “ _Wait...you actually think I taste...good?_ ” 

Ria shrugged again. “Sure. Then again, I eat Ms. Pines' cooking, so my taste buds may have been obliterated many years ago.” 

The monster wasn't listening. “ _All I've ever wanted...is for someone to think that I was...good._ ” He started sobbing, laughing weakly as little candy corn teardrops leaked from his eyes. 

Ria frowned slightly. “Hmm...the crying does make it a little weird.” 

Suddenly a chubby kid in a pirate suite popped out of the monster's guts. 

“Hello, Gorney,” Ria said. 

The child blankly at nothing, a huge smile frozen on his face. “I've been twaumatized!” 

“Yes, dear, we know. Your therapist is the second-richest person in town.” 

 

Ria's car was actually fixable, so while Ria messed with the engine enough to get it running, Stanley figured out where the security tapes were and tried to get the others to help him destroy them. 

“Isn't that, like, super-illegal?” Fiddleford asked. 

“Yeah, I kinda want to keep the tapes for evidence of the supernatural,” Ford added, weighing a tape in his hand. 

Stanley shrugged. “Hey, if you want to leave evidence that Ria smashed fender-first into a car and that we stole and subsequently ruined five costumes and a bunch of other stuff, be my guest. Because nobody's gonna believe that that's an actual candy monster on that tape, especially since all we've got is a pile of gross old chocolate bars, but they will believe that we vandalized the place, since there's plenty of evidence for that.” 

“It is so scary how you came up with that so fast,” Carla said. 

Stanley shrugged and gave her a roguish grin. “What can I say? I'm a man of many talents.” 

So they'd set the tapes on fire to melt the plastic, Fiddleford showed them how to stir and drown the coals to make sure it was out, and they all climbed back into Ria's truck, which clunked and rattled but made it all the way back to the Shack in one piece. 

They opened the door and a piercing scream cut through the night. Stan and Ford glanced at each other, horrified. 

“GRAUNTIE MABEL!” 

The five of them sprinted for the door. Ford got to it first and yanked it open.

Stan rushed past him. “Grauntie Mabel, Grauntie Mabel! Where are y–” 

He stopped short so fast Carla banged into the back of his shoulder. He stared. 

Mabel was sitting right in front of the TV, a mummy and a G.I. Joe on either side of her, pointing and laughing at a security tape playing on the TV. The G.I. Joe clicked the remote to rewind it, and the screen showed Mabel screaming as she turned into a girl from The Glowing, with blank white eyes and a mouth drooling blood. 

“What...the...” 

Mabel heard him and turned. Her face brightened. “Oh hi, guys! Is it that late already?” 

“I was wondering when you guys would get back.” 

Stan's head jerked up and he heard Ford give a tiny gasp. Seandra was waving at them from the table across the room, where she'd been carving a jack-o-lantern. 

“I didn't see you at the party,” she told Ford. “Where were you?” 

“Oh, I, uh...” 

Stan looked down. Then he felt an arm wrap around his shoulders. 

“I was trick-or-treating,” Ford said, smiling and squeezing Stan's shoulders. “With my brother.” 

Stanley grinned so hard his cheeks hurt. “Yeah!” 

Seandra shrugged. “The party was lame anyway. Aaron ate a lollipop stick-first and had to go home sick. I woulda had better entertainment if I stayed here.” She gestured with the carving knife at Mabel. 

Grauntie Mabel got to her feet to make room and ushered them all in front of the television. “You guys will not believe the pranks pulled here tonight. Mummy and G.I. Joe here –”

“Dwayne and Martino,” said the mummy in a bored voice, like he'd said it a million times. 

“– have watched _buckets_ of scary movies. We used the Shack's special effects to put together the _best pranks ever witnessed by innocent unsuspecting children!_ ” 

“Who we then scarred for life,” Martino added, waving the remote. 

Stan nodded his approval. 

They settled into the living room, Ria sitting on the tyrannosaurus skull, Mabel on her chair, Seandra sitting on the small step in the doorway of the living room. Stan and Ford sat on each of Mabel's feet. Carla leaned against Stan's arm, and Fiddleford lay on his stomach between Dwayne and Martino, watching the film. Apparently, Fiddleford didn't have a problem with blood and guts once he knew they were fake. 

Martino rewound to the beginning of the tape. Automatically, Stanley reached for popcorn, and then realized they didn't have any. “Oh, _man!_ ” he exclaimed. “I just realized we went to every single house and we still didn't get any candy!” 

“Oh, but we've had _plenty_ of donations,” Mabel said slyly, and she pulled several massive candy bags from behind her chair. “Ta-da! Courtesy of everyone who got their pants scared off! I actually have a couple of pairs of pants that didn't get soiled if anybody wants 'em.” 

“Pass,” they all said together. They scooted back and took turns dumping the candy in the middle of the room, creating one enormous pile. 

“Just make sure you eat it all,” Ria reminded them calmly. “We would not want the candy to come to life and try and eat us.” 

“Yeah, right,” Dwayne snorted. 

Stanley opened his mouth to retort, but something touched his sore elbow. He looked down to see Ford carefully placing a bandage on his scrapes, then held up another one and pasted it to the cut on his chin. Stanley smiled and punched his brother lightly in the arm. _Summerween's alright_ , I guess, he thought. 

Mabel settled back down with a sigh. “Y'know, kids, I've been thinkin'. At the end of the day, Summerween isn't about candy, or costumes, or even scaring people. It's a day when the whole family can get together in one place, and celebrate what really matters...” 

Stanley grinned and shouted, “PURE EVIL!” 

They laughed, long and hard, doing their best to sound as creepy and evil as possible. Stanley wrapped one arm around Carla and the other around Ford and pulled them close. They all turned back to the television. 

“I ate a man alive tonight,” said Ria. 

They stared at her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This episode seriously made me want to carve a watermelon into a lantern. It was a heinous monstrosity and I was absurdly proud of it.


	4. Summerween Short

The rumbling stopped. 

“Yo, Ford, we're here.” 

Ford cracked open his eyes and groaned. “Can someone turn down the sun?” he asked. 

Fiddleford wriggled out of the car and leaned back to help Ford out. “You don't look so good. I wish you'd stopped at ten pieces of candy like I'd suggested. Are you _sure_ you're up for this?” 

Stanley snorted. “Don't be such a pansy, Fiddlenerd. I ate ten pounds of the stuff and I'm fine! Ford's just gotta build up his tolerance to sugar, is all. You, too, probably. Then you could eat as much as you wanted, like me!” 

“I'll keep that in mind,” Fiddleford said dryly. 

The three of them got out of Stan's car. They'd come back to the Crystal Glade at Ford's insistence – he'd planned on doing that yesterday, during the day, but somehow didn't have the time. (His crush on Seandra had absolutely nothing at all to do with it. He just had to take a temporary mental break in order to refresh his faculties for the challenge of decoding the lines. _Obviously._ ) 

Ford pulled the journal out of his pocket and flipped through it until he found the map of the glade. “Okay, let's get out the red flags and use them to park places where the codes have already shown up. That way we know we won't have to check that area – although there may be more than one line of text on a rock. We can split up and each take three or four rocks each. Then we'll have every rock covered.” 

“What about bathroom breaks?” Fiddleford asked. “I'd prefer not to have to sit for hours without a bathroom break.” 

“ _Hours?_ ” Stan repeated, dismayed. “Ford, you're not gonna make me sit here all day, are you?” 

“But we need your help!” Ford said, thumping the journal for emphasis. “Who knows what this secret could unlock? You said yourself it could be the key to finding all the treasure in the forest!” 

“Yeeeahh, but that doesn't mean I wanna watch the sun move over a rock for ten hours straight.” 

“I'll give you the rest of my Summerween candy,” Ford said. The very thought of eating it made him nauseous all over again, anyway. 

Stanley grumbled a bit, but the bribe seemed to sway him. They got out their supplies, divided up their snacks, and sat down to...rock-watch. 

Ford had to admit, it was a lot less exciting than it sounded. 

They sat in a semi-circle, Stan on the left side of the glade, Fiddleford on the right, with Ford in the middle, facing the largest rock. There were two other rocks close by that looked like they might have been “crystal-capable” (capable of growing crystals), so Ford was watching those, too. 

He'd just about memorized every bump and ridge in their surface when he heard the crackle of plastic off to his left. 

“Stanley? What're you doing?” Ford asked, keeping his eyes on his rocks. 

“What does it look like I'm doing? Eating my snacks.” 

“You should really save some for later,” Fiddleford said. “It's best to eat small portions throughout the day. Humans were originally hunter-gatherers, so our bodies are more designed to eat small, frequent meals than large infrequent ones.” 

“Ugh, science! Time to eat another sandwich to block out the boredom!” There was the sound of another wrapper being torn open. 

Ford resisted rolling his eyes. “Now you know what I have to deal with every day,” Ford said to Fiddleford. 

“Hey, I'm not _that_ annoying!” Stan protested. “Plus I don't go around muttering about triangles in my sleep.” 

“Triangles?” Fiddleford asked, puzzled. 

“Yeah.” Ford felt a poke at his back. “My nerdy bro over here spent half the night talking about little yellow triangles in his sleep. Said they were _watching_ him.” 

“Definitely too much candy,” Fiddleford said firmly. 

Ford grunted. He had no memory of such dreams. 

“Plus,” Stan added, “you were talking about Norman.” 

“Norman?” Fiddleford asked. 

Ford could picture Stanley waving his arms as he talked – they both had that habit. “This guy, pretending to be a teenager. Actually made out of a bunch of gnomes that wanted to kidnap me and make me dig for buried treasure.” 

“Wow. It's like Snow White, but in reverse.” 

Stan snorted. “No kid–”

“Hey!” Fiddleford yelled suddenly. “I got one, I got one!” 

Ford whipped around. “Where, where?!” 

Fiddleford didn't answer – he was already pinning a piece of paper to the rock with a stick, keeping his hands carefully out of the light, and scratching at the paper with a pencil. 

Ford was practically wiggling in his seat. “This is so exciting! Our next clue! Wonder how many there'll be?” 

As it turned out, the line after that didn't come for over an hour. The way the sun was moving, they realized that Fiddleford's rocks got the light first, then Ford, then Stanley, so they agreed that Stanley could wander around while Ford and Fiddleford watched the rocks. All three of them were happy with this arrangement. Stanley had started flinging little balls of grass at the back of their heads when he got bored. Walking around the forest kept him from driving them crazy. Not to mention that Ford really enjoyed having a good talk with Fiddleford, scientist to scientist. 

The two of them shared ideas about quantum physics, time travel, and the possibility of the multiverse – especially how time travel was in any sense related to a possible multiverse. For instance, if you changed the past, did you also create another universe, or did it simply change the universe you were in? Was there an upper limit on how many universes there could be? Did different dimensions count as a universe? Adding a third dimension certainly made the world very different than if it was limited to two dimensions. 

Time seemed to pass even more quickly the longer they talked, and in no time at all Ford and Fiddleford had collected four more lines of encrypted text. Ford was having a lot of fun. He never got to talk science with Stanley. Or rather, he did, but Stanley mostly just pretended to listen. It felt good to talk to someone on his level, to trade ideas and explore theoretical possibilities. 

Stanley returned shortly before noon. “Hey, either of you Fords got a spare sandwich?” he asked, and immediately grabbed one of Ford's. 

“Hey!” Ford tried to grab it back, but Stanley danced out of reach. “Finders keepers!” 

“And we're not both Fords,” Fiddleford added. 

“Sorry, Fiddlenerd.” 

“It's Fiddlef–”

“OH LOOK ANOTHER CODE,” Stanley said loudly, pointing behind Ford. 

Ford looked and gasped. “There is!” 

Stan swiped another sandwich and did a double-take. “Wait, really?” 

Ford hurried to record the code before it shrank again. Luckily Stanley had spotted it just in time – Ford had just finished coloring it on a piece of paper when the light shifted, and a blue ray hit the text. It shrank down until it was nearly invisible. 

“Phew. Nice catch, Stan.” 

“Yeah, well, nice sandwich, Ford.” Stan ripped the sandwich in half and gave the other half back to his brother. 

“And _my_ sandwich?” Fiddleford demanded. 

Stanley reluctantly handed it back as well. 

There were a couple of lines of text on Stanley's rocks, but by four in the afternoon, the trees were casting shade on the entire glade. They'd found every line there was to find, a total of six lines total, all of it written with the same alien symbols. 

Ford held the papers in his lap as they drove back to the Shack. He'd wanted to stay longer, just in case the crystals reacted to moonlight, but both Fiddleford and Stanley insisted they head back before dark. 

“It's not safe in the forest at night,” Fiddleford said. 

“And I am _not_ crashing into a tree 'cuz I can't see where I'm going,” Stan said flatly. “Plus, I got a giant bag of candy at the Shack with my name on it!” 

Fiddleford shook his head. “Stanley, even _you_ will get sick eating that much two days in a row.” 

“Bet you ten bucks I don't throw up.” 

“'Not vomiting' isn't the same as 'not being sick'.” 

“It's a bet!” Stan said, leaping into his car. “C'mon, I wanna earn some extra cash!” 

“I never said I agreed to a bet!” Fiddleford insisted, as they got into the car. 

Ford wasn't paying much attention. He spread the papers out in his lap as much as he could, examining the lines of code. How was he supposed to crack an alien language? He'd need something akin to a picture book, or some kind of diagram maybe. Something to help him at least differentiate between the verbs and the nouns. If alien languages even _had_ verbs or nouns. 

“You're awfully quiet over there, Ford,” Fiddeford said, startling him out of his thoughts. 

“Oh...just trying to figure out the best way to crack an alien language.” 

“You sure it's not just gibberish?” Stan asked. “Looks like gibberish to me.” 

“Even if someone _did_ want to spend their time carving gibberish onto a rock, the text shows evidence of being a language. There are repeating structures – here, and here,” he said, pointing to groups of two and three symbols. “Then these endings here...” He pointed. The same one or two symbols appeared multiple times at the ends of different words. 

“Like using -ed or -s in English?” Fiddleford asked. 

“Yes, but those are just for verbs. I'm not even sure if this language _has_ verbs.” 

“Why are you assuming it's an alien language?” Fiddleford shrugged. “I mean, I know it's a long shot, but there have been English speakers in this area for decades. We don't know when that text was put there – might've been a century ago, might've been three centuries, or more. But you'll notice the lines on those rocks are pretty sharp. I don't think there's been a lot of erosion –”

“I NEED A SANDWICH TO STUFF IN MY EARS,” Stanley said loudly. 

“Har, har,” Fiddleford said, giving Stan a pretty impressive elbow-jab. Even Stanley glanced at him with new respect. “ _Any_ way, why not assume it's English? You can even look up the frequency of letters that appear in a typical English sentence – 'e' is always the most common, so chances are that letter will pop up the most here, too. Even if it's a long shot, you can at least eliminate one language.” 

“Makes sense,” Ford nodded, agreeing. He already knew the frequency of letters from the code book Ria had gotten him – but those were just for English. When he was done trying that, he could look up the frequency of letters for other languages. It should only take him a week or two to go through every written language likely to have been used in the area. “We should have a code-cracking session at the Shack. Can you sleep over again?” 

“Not two nights in a row – my dad likes to spend time with me,” Fiddleford said. “Maybe tomorrow, though?” 

“Do I sense a bromance happening?” Stanley asked with a sly grin. “Should get the two of you matching nerd-coats or what?” 

In perfect unison, Ford and Fiddleford reached over and flicked Stan on the back of the head.


	5. Boss Stan

Mabel, Stan, and Ford sat in the living room. Ford sat perched on the arm of Mabel's chair, while Stanley sat on the floor feeding Chipackers to Gompers. Ford swung his legs a little. Of all the shows Mabel liked to watch, this one was his favorite. 

“ _Ladies and Gentlemen,_ ” said the narrator on television, “ _We now return to...Pop Quiz For Adults! Sponsored by Chipackers – the chip-flavored cracker!_ ” 

“They taste just like chips!” Stan said. 

The show came back on. Three contestants stood on one side of the room while the show host stood next to a huge board filled with numbered squares. 

“I'll take History for five hundred, Alec,” said the blond contestant. 

Alec smoothed back his perfect hair and the card turned over. “In 1789, President George Washington appointed which person to be the first secretary of state?” 

“Um...who is –”

Stanley shouted it at the same time as the guy on screen: “THOMAS JEFFERSON!” 

Alec looked down at the card in his hand and paused dramatically. “And the answer is...Thomas Jefferson! He was appointed beca–”

“WOOHOO!” the contestant shouted. “I'm rich, rich, RICH I TELL YOU!” 

Stanley laughed. “I like that guy's style.” 

“How'd you know the answer?” Ford asked. 

Stanley shrugged. “Mabel forced me to watch some dumb old black-and-white movie on pain of chores.” (Ford happened to know that she hadn't forced him – he'd just grabbed a bag of toffee peanuts and pretended he was more focused on eating it than watching the movie. But Ford would save that little tidbit for when he needed blackmail material.)

“Y'know, I bet it'd be cool to earn that much cash,” Mabel said. “And I love that they added a Romance column. Plus that Alec is _so_ dreamy.” 

Stan and Ford shuddered. “Ewww.” 

Ria rushed into the room. “Ms. Pines! We got tourists at nine o' clock!” she panted. “A whole _busload_ of them!” 

They all headed to the Gift Shop and looked out the window. Waddles was lying on the lawn like a huge lump of pink cement, and a gray city bus was pulling up right next to him. Tourists started getting off, clutching cameras and fanny packs and chatting with each other. 

Mabel's face lit up with excitement. “Wow, look at 'em all! It's a jackpot!” She turned. “Ria! Quick, make some new attractions!” 

“You got it, boss!” Ria went to the craft table and started gluing plastic blue eyes and oddly shaped sticks onto a stuffed headless chicken. 

“Seandra!” 

Ford whipped around. Seandra had crouching in a corner behind a table of bobbleheads, examining the backs of their heads with a magnifying glass. She jumped to her feat and banged her head on a shelf. “Ow! Yes! Yes, Ms. Pines!” 

“Quit slacking off and mark up those prices!” Mabel barked, pointing to the shelves full of Mystery Shack snow globes. They were marked $2 each. Seandra took a sharpie out of her notebook and put a zero behind the two. “Higher!” Mabel ordered. “HIGHER! _Bleed 'em dry!_ ” 

The snow globes now cost $200 each. 

Ford winced. “Yeesh, Grauntie Mabel. It's like when you look at tourists all you see are wallets with legs.” 

“Wrong one thousand, little nerd,” Mabel said smugly, messing up his hair. “All I see are highly gullible marks who are delighted to be enchanted by my obviously fake attractions and are willing to pay through the nose for the privilege!” 

They looked back out the window. A car had pulled up next to the bus and a family of tourists was getting out – a mom, a dad, and two kids. 

“Thanks for taking me to the Mystery Shack, Daddy,” said the first kid in a cutesy little voice. 

The dad laughed. “Now remember to spend all your money in one place, son. There's always more where that came from!” 

The second kid got out looking decidedly queasy. “I think I'm gonna be carsick,” he groaned, and immediately upchucked on the lawn. 

“Oooh!” squealed the mom. “Quick, honey, snap a picture – Michael's first time being carsick!” 

Ford grimaced. Mabel's assessment of the tourists wasn't exactly wrong. 

“Alright, kiddo, that's your cue!” Mabel pushed him towards the door. “Clean up on the front lawn! Get that grass so clean we could turn it into our next attraction – the grass cleaned by magical cleaning leprecauns!” 

“Yeah, with six fingers and an IQ as high as Stephen Hawking's,” he muttered, but he went to do as she asked. 

 

“Ladies and gentle-tourists,” Grauntie Mabel announced, leading the next pack of tourists through the museum. “Looking around my Mystery Shack, you'll see many wondrous roadside attractions. Be amazed at the only known photo of a horse riding another horse!” 

Ford stood listening to the tour behind a red velvet curtain, hanging in the corner of the Museum. Unfortunately, she'd told Stan and Ford that one of them had to do cash register duty and one of them had to dress up as a fake werewolf boy. Neither of them wanted the second chore, so they'd done rock-paper-scissors. Ford lost. 

He heard their footsteps coming closer. 

“Be astounded by the horrible pre-teen wolf boy!” 

The curtains in front of him parted, and Ford was left standing in front of a bunch of tourists, wearing nothing but fake wolf ears, fake vampire teeth, and fake dog-hair pants, complete with fake tail. He didn't even have any pockets to hide his hands. 

“Oh look at him!” Mabel said, pretending to be horrified. “All that hair...body's changing, aaahh!” 

He took out his wolf teeth. “Grauntie Mabel, do I really have to do this? This is demeaning!” 

Grauntie Mabel feigned confusion. “What? I don't know...de- _meaning_ of that word!” 

The tourists laughed.

“If you throw money at him, he dances,” Mabel added, and the tourists started chucking paper money and coins that banged off his arms and chest. He flinched back and did a dumb little jig. 

Mabel squealed with excitement and caught the cash in a jar. “Oh! Haha – thank you, thank you!” 

_Well, at least I'm the first actual anomaly here_ , Ford grumbled to himself. And the tourists were so distracted by Mabel's cheesy humor that no one even noticed his hands. 

 

“Behold!” Stan declared. “Mystery Shack Bumper Stickers!” 

Since Seandra was off buying paint for the Shack, Mabel had put Stan on cash register duty. He'd made the bumper stickers himself. 

He waved a handful of them in the air, fanning himself. “These babies are multi-purpose! You can stick them on your bumper, use them as a fan, or stick them over someone's mouth when they talk too much!” 

The tourists laughed. 

“I could definitely use one of those,” said an older woman, approaching the register. “Maybe _three_ of those. How much?” 

“Five – no, fifteen dollars!” 

She bought the three of them for a total of $45 dollars. Mabel only charged $4 each for them. He was about to stick the extra cash in his pocket when something grabbed his wrist. 

“Whoa, whoa, kid, what're you doing?!” Mabel demanded, glaring at him. 

“Uh – business!” He popped open the drawer on the cash register and quickly put away the money. “See? Cha-ching, cha-ching!” 

“You can't overcharge, and you can't _steal from the Mystery Shack!_ ” She scooched him out from behind the counter. “You're off the register until further notice.” 

“But, but – _you_ overcharge stuff all the time!”

“That's 'cuz it's my business, kid, literally! And no buts except yours out the door.” She pointed to the mop and the bucket in the corner. “Now shut yer yap and get to work!” 

“Oh come on! I'm a great sales associate. I make more money than _you_ do all day!” 

“You raise prices without permission and half the time you're not even polite,” she shot back. “Whatever happened to 'please' and 'thank you,' hmm?” She pointed to the stickers on the cash register, showing the words in sparkly green writing. 

He stared at her stonily. 'Please' was not a word that ever did him any good. 'Please' was a word you used when you were scared. 

“Grauntie Mabel?” 

They turned. Ford walked up to them, still wearing the dog pants. 

“Why do I have to wear this wolf costume? I think I'm getting hookworm.” 

Mabel barked out a laugh. “You know, I bet there's a _really_ good knitting joke in there somewhere.” 

Ford was clearly unamused. He pulled the wolf ears off his headband and threw them on the ground. “You have all these dumb fake exhibits in the Shack. Meanwhile, I've seen actual, amazing things in the forest every day! What if you hunted down a real attraction instead of lying to people for a living?” 

“And you should give your employees bonuses!” Stan added. 

“Yeah!” 

They high-sixed. 

Mabel sighed. “Look, you guys got a problem with how I run the Shack, take it up with the complaints department. Zing!” She held up the trash can. 

Stan looked at her, deadpan. “We are _so_ not amused.” 

 

Apparently, neither was Mabel. For their attitude, and for Seandra's shirking (say that five times fast), she made all three of them wear Unpaid Intern overalls and paint the “Mystery Shack” sign in glittery pink paint. Ria decided to help to make the job go faster. Stan appreciated that, but she didn't have to wear the overalls. 

Worst. Chore. _Ever._

“And don't stop 'till you've covered that sign with glitter!” Mabel called up to them. “Glittery signs attract tourists! Also large birds.” 

Right on cue, Ria was attacked by a giant bald eagle. Ford flung some paint at it to make it go away. They heard Mabel laugh as she went back inside. 

Ford threw his paintbrush back in the can. “Ugh, is it just me, or is having Grauntie Mabel for a boss seriously the worst?” 

“I know, right?!” Seandra set down her paint roller. “'Don't crawl under the shelves, Seandra! Stop interviewing the customers, Seandra! No, Seandra, you're not allowed to dust the Museum for yeti thumbprints, Seandra!' Why do we even put up with it?” 

“I tried to give Ms. Pines a suggestion to improve the Mystery Shack once,” Ria put in. “I had this idea that I could be the Mystery Shack Mascot – 'Questiony the Question mark'.” She pulled out a paper from her pants pocket and unfolded it, showing a sketch she'd made of herself in a giant question mark costume. The foam of the question mark was pretty thick and covered everything but her arms and legs. 

“That looks pretty neat,” Stanley said, peering at it. 

“Yeah!” Ford and Seandra agreed. 

Ria blushed. “Well, thanks. I mean, my dad and I are always cosplaying for his FCLORP thing, so I figured a big foam costume would be pretty easy to make. But...” Her face fell and she folded the paper. “Ms. Pines said I...couldn't handle it.” 

“ _Really?_ ” Stanley asked. “That doesn't sound like Grauntie Mabel. She _loves_ goofy ideas like that. She'd have us all dressing up as punctuation marks – Seandra would be the quote marks, Ford would be the asterisk, and I'd be the dollar sign!” 

“Why do you even have worked that out?” Ford asked. 

“That's beside the point!” Stanley threw down his brush. “The point is, we should march right down there and give Mabel Pines a piece of our minds!” 

“You mean you're marching down there and leaving us to finish the sign,” Ford said. 

“EXACTLY!” 

Stanley hurried to the attic window, pushed it open and dove inside. 

 

Mabel waved off the last tour bus of the day. “And remember, folks! We put the 'fun' in 'no refunds'!” She headed inside, holding the huge bag to today's earnings. Looked like there'd be a substantial profit in today's financial records! 

“YOU!” 

“GAH!” 

She jumped and spun around, a glitter bomb already in her hand. 

“Geez, Stanley, you nearly gave me a heart attack! And yourself two lungs full of glitter! Do you _want_ to end up with permanent asthma?!” 

Stanley's face was all pouty, which was normally cute, except that he was also out of uniform and he'd probably ditched everybody else and left them painting the sign. “Grauntie Mabel, you've gone to far this time!” he shouted. 

“Yeah, telling you to paint a sign on the roof is practically a felony,” Mabel said dryly, heading to her office. 

Stan followed her. “Yes, and I'm glad we've reached an understanding, but that wasn't what I meant! Did you seriously tell Ria not to follow her dreams because she 'couldn't handle it'?” 

“Since when do you care about other people's hopes and dreams?” Mabel asked, entering her office. 

“Since it got me out of painting the roof sign!” 

“'Swhat I figured.” She sat at her desk and started unscrewing the jar, then paused and shooed him back. “Two feet from the desk, Sticky Fingers. I ain't got time to count this twice.” 

Stanley growled but took two tiny steps back. 

“Look, kid, let me break it down for you,” Mabel said. “Being a boss is about commanding respect, and knowing what will work and what won't. You can't just give people what they want all the time, because not all of it is going to work out. And when you're as busy and old as I am, you do _not_ have the time to explain every last detail of your decisions to your employees. You gotta be nice, you gotta be respectful, but you also gotta _command_ respect, or people will walk all over you.” 

“Yeah, right!” Stanley climbed onto the chair facing of the desk. “You just never let us do _anything_ we want, no matter how cool it is! We're overworked and underrepresented in the workplace! And another thing!” He stabbed a finger on the desk. “Those prices out there are way too low! You saw what happened today, those mouth-breathin' idiots will pay a _fortune_ for this cheap junk you sell! We could be rolling in dough, but instead you have us eating cheese-and-pickle tofu burgers!” 

Mabel set her jaw. “That was _one time_. I do a lot more than you even think about, and I've got more business sense than you give me credit for. What, you think _you_ could run this place better? You think _you_ could wear this hat?!” 

“Yeah! 'Cuz I'd give people what they wanted, whenever they wanted, and I'd raise the prices so high I'd be a millionaire in three days flat!” 

Mabel stood up. “Guess what, kid? You got your wish.” 

Stan blinked. “Say what?” 

Mabel grabbed the alarm clock from the filing cabinet behind her and set the timer. “Three days. Seventy-two hours. You run the Shack, and I'll go on vacation. If you make more money than I do...” She shrugged. “I guess it means you're right about how I run my business. _BUT!_ If you _lose_...” She pulled out a plain white T-shirt and scribbled something on it. “You have to wear this 'I Was Wrong' shirt all summer!” 

Stanley set his jaw. “Fine! But If _I_ win, I get to run the Shack for the rest of the summer, and I get to do whatever I want with the profits! Plus you have to wash and wax my car every day for a year!” 

“Deal!” she said, glaring at him. 

“Deal!” he glared back. 

“Deal!” 

Stanley jumped off the chair and started walking backwards out of the room. “ _Deal,_ ” he growled. 

And then he walked right out of the room, still backwards, without banging his head into anything. Mabel couldn't help but be a little bit impressed. 

 

Ford watched Grauntie Mabel pack the side car with suitcase after suitcase full of yarn. She wore a loud Hawaiian tourist shirt and kakhi pants. She even had a fake hibiscus flower in her hair. 

Stan had filled him in on the bet. They stood side by side on the porch, with Stan holding Mabel's big glass money jar. 

“See you in 72 hours!” Mabel called cheerfully, snapping on her gaudy purple helmet. “We'll see who makes more money. Oh, right!” She took off the helmet and chucked the now-crushed fez at Stan, which landed neatly on his head and fell over his eyes. 

Stan pushed it up with one thumb and they watched Mabel drive off, laughing over the roar of the motorcycle. 

Ford grimaced. “I can't believe you just made a bet with a professional con artist.” 

“Psh. You're talking to the guy who once pick-pocketed Valerie for the extra aluminum she carries in her waitress apron. And she's the most paranoid person we know! This'll be a piece of cake.” He held up the jar triumphantly. “Being a better boss than Mabel will be a cinch. You guys just do whatever you want, and I'll rake in all the money! Profits, here we come!” 

The jar immediately slipped out of his hands and crashed on the floor. 

Ford looked at it. “You broke the jar –”

“We'll get a new one.” 

Ford crossed his arms. “I guess I shouldn't be _too_ worried. I mean, how much money could anybody make on vacation?” 

 

One of the show's assistant directors was scribbling on his clipboard when a woman appeared in front of him, dressed in a gaudy Hawaiian get-up with a huge red hibiscus in her hair. 

“Can I help you, ma'am?” he asked. 

“I'm here to take all the cash from your cards,” Mabel announced, standing confidently in front of the set for _Pop Quiz For Adults._

 

Stan heard them filing into the office. 

“You wanted to see us, Ms. Pines?” Ria asked. 

He spun around in the chair, sprawled in the seat, one leg over an armrest. He'd used the cash in the register to buy himself a pair of fake-gold glasses, a chain for his gold coin to hang around his neck, and an off-brand sweatsuit with _VICTORY_ written up the side of each pant leg. If you wanted to be the boss, you had to look the part. 

“Um...nice bling,” Ford said. Seandra shielded her eyes. 

Fiddleford looked around, as if searching for Ms. Pines. (Stan had told him to come in, since maximum workers meant maximum people to earn him some money.) “I'm sorry, am I missing something?” Fiddleford asked. 

Stan grinned. “Mabel Pines is no longer with us.” 

“She's _DEAD?!_ ” Ria howled. “NOOO! WHYYYY?! It should've been _ME!_ ” She collapsed to the ground in tears. 

“Relax, Ria, he just meant she's on vacation,” Ford said quickly. 

“Yep. We made a bet!” Stanley said. 

Ria sniffled and got to her feet, wiping her eyes. “Thank you for that clarification.” 

Stanley swept his arm in a grand gesture, encompassing the room. He'd redone the place to make it actually look good: there was a new rug with a life-size anchor pattern on the floor, a Brick-In-Your-Foot Boat Set half-opened on the carpet (he'd been building the boat with the little plastic bricks moments before they walked in), three ship-in-a-bottles resting on various pieces of furniture, and a brand new pair of red boxing gloves hanging on one wall. 

“As you'll notice,” he said, “there will be a few changes around here. We are about to get so filthy rich we could buy the Northwest Mansion and then have it destroyed just for the heck of it! MUHAHAHA!” 

“You drank Mabel Juice, didn't you,” Ford said flatly. 

“Wrong one-thousand, broseph!” Stanley leaned forward, grinning. “Like I said, Mabel and I made a bet. For the next two days, I'm in charge, and we're going to rake in piles of cash money running the Shack exactly the way it should be run. Here's the deal.” Stanley sat up and pointed to each of them in turn. 

“Seandra, you do whatever you want. Ria, you do whatever you want. Ford, you do whatever you want, but if you try to hunt down supernatural creatures make sure they don't eat Waddles. I'm saving that pig for a BBQ. Fiddleford, you're going to turn this Shack into a mad science lab so I can show all those tourists exactly what monsters you're cooking up!” 

“Can I look for clues to hidden conspiracies and mysteries while I work?” Seandra asked. 

Stan shrugged. “Fine with me.” 

“Can I make and wear my Questiony the Question Mark costume on a daily basis without washing the costume?” Ria asked. 

“I'm gonna say yes to the wearing, but also wash the costume and scrub it with money. I find the scent of dollar bills invigorating.” 

“Does this mean I can find actual supernatural creatures to show in the Mystery Shack's Museum?” Ford asked. 

“Yep!” 

“Can I have some of the Shack's profits to get the equipment I'll need for genetic recombination?” Fiddleford asked. 

“Sure! Just get it from the nearest tourist! So – everybody good?” 

“Heck yeah!” Ford shouted. “Time to show Mabel what a _real_ mystery hunter can do!” 

He ran out the door and into the Gift Shop. They followed him. Ford grabbed the nearest weapon – a huge medieval flail with a spiked steel ball the size of his head. He climbed to the window. 

“Ford, out!” he shouted, and immediately lost his balance and fell out, dragged down by the heavy ball and chain. 

Stanley burst out laughing. 

 

Mabel stood in a long line of people auditioning for _Pop Quiz For Adults_. The line hadn't moved at all in forty-five minutes. 

“Hmm,” she muttered to herself. “I'm pretty darn cute and affectionate, but how am I ever going to get on that show if I have to compete for an audition with everybody else?” 

She thought hard. She had two options. Option 1: Be even cuter and more adorable than a million baby kittens combined. Option 2: Make everybody else leave and be the cutest person there by default. 

She decided on Option 3: Do both at once! 

A few minutes later, when the auditioners came out to call in the next person, there was a bright pink smoke slowly filtering out of the room, the whole place was covered in purple glitter, and Mabel was holding three sparkler sticks in each hand. She lit them at once and did a little jig that made her look like a featherless phoenix on caffeine. 

“TADA!” she announced, posing. 

“Um...what happened to everybody else?” an auditioner asked. 

“Oh, that's not important!” Mabel said cheerfully. Then she leaned in. “I notice you only interviewed two people. Since I'm the last person here, that must mean I'm in, right?” 

The auditioner looked around again, then looked her up and down. She grinned as wide as she could, and he went pale. _Aw, I bet he thinks I'm cute! It totally worked!_

“Uh – your, uh, your hair is on fire,” he stammered. 

“Oh, that's normal! It's part of my jig's grand finale! Wanna see?” She took out ten more sparklers. 

“No no no no no! You're in, you're in!” 

 

Being the boss was _awesome_. 

He started by taking Mabel's water dispenser and filled it with chocolate shake instead. Then he gave Fiddleford three hundred bucks from the cash register and Ria drove him to the hardware store for supplies. Fiddleford came back and started working so hard building a small science lab that Stan used him as one of the exhibits, calling him the “Workaholic Wonder” and charging tourists $60 each to take turns holding Fiddleford's hammer. (Fiddleford sweated nervously whenever anyone did that and insisted that it was delicate equipment, which made it even more fun.) 

Stan also helped Ria make a giant foam costume in the shape of a question mark, and then told Seandra to give Stanley orders just so he could yell “NO WAY” every time. They both got a real kick out of that. 

He rewarded himself for being such a good boss by commissioning a life-size painting of himself, with ultra-realistic bulging muscles and a pair of magic money pants, surrounded by piles of treasure. He hung it on the wall behind Mabel's chair. 

He nodded with satisfaction. “It's good to be king.” 

He'd just finished with his fifth tour of the day, charging people $90 for bumper stickers on the way out. (There was some grumbling, but hey, they still spent the money!) There wasn't another tour for the next ten minutes, and a lot of the tourists were milling around. He decided to go encourage them to spend money in the Gift Shop. 

“So Seandra, how much money am I making?” Stanley asked, pushing open the door.

He stopped short. There were a bunch of angry tourists standing in line, grumbling and looking madder by the second – and there was no one behind the cash register! 

He raced over to the counter. There was a note taped to the little screen thingie where the total for a purchase showed up: 

 

_Hi, Stan!_   
_Found a great clue! Had to compare it to the thing_   
_I saw in the library last week. Back soon. Thanks_   
_for being a great boss!_   
_– Seandra_

 

“Hey kid, hurry it up already!” barked the tourist. 

“Sorry, sorry, uh –”

He quickly rang up the purchase. He was so flustered he forgot to raise the prices more than usual. But when he tried to do it with the next tourist, and the next, and the next, they all got mad and stormed out! One of them even said they saw cheaper stuff at the last tourist trap! 

“Hey, this is high-quality junk!” he snapped.

“It's high-priced junk, and it's still junk!” she shot back, and banged the door behind her as she left.

The next group of tourists showed up when the first group was still leaving. He hurried out, but it looked like some of the angry tourists had already warned the next group about the prices. Stanley actually had to _lower_ prices back to normal to get them to spend any money! 

When that tour finally ended, he hurried to go get Fiddleford. He needed someone to guide tours while he went to get Seandra. 

The nerd had built something the size of a one-car garage with three walls and a roof, and was experimenting with how to get a massive door to rise up through the ground to act as a door-slash-wall. 

“Hey, Fiddlesticks!” 

“Check it out, check it out!” Fiddleford gushed. He raised a gadget in his left hand and pulled the trigger. 

There was a _bang_ so loud Stanley was nearly knocked back on his feet and all the windows in the Gift shop shattered. He scrambled up again. The fourth wall had come up, but the rest of the enclosure had been blown apart and was lying in pieces on the lawn. 

Fiddleford was sitting on his butt five feet from the wall, his hair on end, smoking slightly. 

“WOW!” he giggled. “CHECK IT OUT, I BLEW THE FOURTH WALL!” 

“Forget the mad science lab!” Stan shouted. “Fiddleford, I need you to –”

“WHAT?!” Fiddleford held a hand to his ear. “SPEAK LOUDER, STANLEY!” 

“ _I SAID –_ ”

“WHAT?” 

Stan gave up and ran to get Ria. He had to hurry before the next group showed up. 

He found her stepping out of a Port-A-Potty, wearing her giant foam costume. It completely encased her body in stiff black foam. Her arms stuck straight out from the sides, and her legs stuck straight out the bottom. 

“Ria,” Stanley panted. “Perfect. Listen, Seandra went AWOL, I need you to give the next tour while I go get her.” 

“But, uh, I don't know about this costume...” She tried to step forward and ended up waddling like a penguin. The costume didn't let her legs bend at the waist. “I cannot walk very –” She tried to take another step and keeled right over. “AAH! Ria is down! Ria is down!” 

The next tour bus pulled up. Stanley gasped and ran to meet them before any other lingering tourists ruined his chances to raise the prices. And the Gift Shop was still a shattered-glass nightmare, so he'd have to keep the tourists out and make up the profits overcharging photos for everything. Maybe he could sell pieces of Fiddleford's busted science lab. He wished Seandra were here so he could tell her to clean up the Shop while he worked. And where the heck was Ford when you needed him!? 

 

The huge sack seemed to catch every snag on the ground, and the massive creature inside wouldn't stop squirming, but Ford finally dragged it all the way back to the Shack. He was hot and sweaty and his arms felt like overcooked noodles, but he had just caught his first-ever magical creature! 

Just then a bunch of tourists came out of the Museum. Stanley came out after them, waving. He called out cheerfully, “Remember, we put the 'fun' in 'no refunds'!” 

Ford thought Stan looked a little tired and his glasses were missing a couple of rhinestones, but that wasn't the point. 

“STANLEY, STANLEY!” he shouted, waving frantically to get his attention. “I captured something, look! This is gonna blow those tourists away!” 

Suddenly the burlap sack bulged out and the monster caught Ford's arm in its teeth through the fabric. He yelled and pummeled where he thought the face would be until he let go. 

“Wow! Did you see that just now!? Do you think its saliva got through the sack? We could test for magical properties!” 

“Later,” Stanley snapped. “Go set that thing up in the Museum. You can lead the next tour yourself and show 'em all the crazy mystery stuff you want. I gotta hurry and clean the Shop so people can actually spend money in there!” 

Ford blinked in surprise as Stanley hurried off. _Stanley? Cleaning on_ purpose? Something was definitely wrong. He would have to investigate...

...as soon as those tourists saw their first actual exhibit! 

 

Alec turned around and faced the camera, smiling wide enough to show all 32 teeth. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to... _Pop Quiz For Adults!_ ” 

The studio audience cheered. 

“Let's meet today's contestants.” 

The camera panned over to the three contestants standing behind their separate booths. The camera showed the first contestant, a geeky-looking kid in a plaid shirt with a soda paunch. 

“I-I-I'm, uh, S-S-S-S,” stammered the contestant, but he didn't have time to finish before the camera swept to the next person. 

She smiled at the camera. “Hello! I'm Ashley, from – “

“I'M MABEL!” the third contestant shouted, butting into Ashley's personal space. 

The camera swept over to her booth. Mabel hurried back so she'd be in its line of sight. 

“Oh, did we do me already? I'm Mabel, Mabel Pines!” 

Alec gave a forced chuckle and looked at the camera. “Well, it's gonna be a long night, folks,” he joked, and the audience laughed again. “It's time to pi–”

“AHAHAHA!” Mabel laughed loudly, about five seconds too late. 

Alec's face froze. “Uh-huh. It's, uh, time to pick up those signaling devices from your booths, you're going to need them – we hope!” 

He turned to the giant digital screen, which lit up with blue squares. The names of the columns at the top, and there were numbers written on the squares in increasing value from top to bottom. 

“You will be dealing with questions in these categories: 'Classic TV Characters' category...followed by the 'Technology' category –”

“I CHOOSE ROMANCE FOR FOUR HUNDRED!” Mabel shouted. 

Alec frowned. “Excuse me, ma'am, the game hasn't started.” 

The question showed up on the board. Before anyone had time to read it, Mabel's buzzed her signal and she shouted, “ _GONE WITH THE WIND BY MARGARET MITCHELL!_ ” 

The board pinged. $400 appeared on Mabel's booth. The other two contestants looked at her, stunned. 

“Impressive,” Alec said reluctantly. 

She grinned at him. “Do I get to do a lightning round?” 

“Well, we don't have any –”

“ROMANCE FOR SIX HUNDRED! 'The Princess Bride'! CLASSIC TV CHARACTERS FOR ONE THOUSAND! Lucy Ricardo! TECHNOLOGY FOR TWO HUNDRED! Dubstep remix!” 

_Bzz! Bzz! Bzz!_

There was hardly any time at all between the question popping up on the board and Mabel shouting out her answers. One of the contestants broke down and cried. 

 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Ford announced. “My name's Honest Ford, and unlike my scamming Grauntie, I have something to show you that _isn't_ a hoax!” 

The tourists gathered around him. He'd messed with the lighting in the Museum so that three light bulbs were aimed at the covered cage behind him, spotlighting it dramatically. He grinned as three of them “ _oooh_ 'ed” preemptively. 

“It nearly killed me getting him into that cage. Behold – part-gremlin, part-goblin...THE GREMLOBLIN!” 

He pulled off the blanket dramatically. 

The thing in the cage was seven feet tall, built like a troll with thick green skin tougher than a rhino's, with warthog tusks bulging out from its lower lip. The cage was solid steel, but barely big enough to contain him. It rattled the bars in its thick-knuckled fists, glaring at them with red eyes that literally glowed with hostility. It snarled and spat out a set of human arm bones, complete with fingers, a gold ring still wrapped around one digit. 

“Well that's fun,” said one tourist amiably, as the crowd began to disperse. He lifted the camera from the string around his neck started to take a picture. 

The woman standing next to him shook her head. “It's fake, honey, you can see the strings.” 

“What?!” Ford yelped. “That's not strings, that's body hair! And those are _actual mushrooms_ growing from its shoulders!” 

But the couple was already walking away, and the other tourists had left to check out the Gift Shop. Ford couldn't believe it. Didn't anyone appreciate real life-endangering mysteries when they saw them?! 

“Huh, look at that, dear!” said the lady, looking at one of Mabel's taxidermic monsters. It had goat feet, a muscular human torso, and an antelope head all glued together. She looked at the sign beneath it. “The 'Six Pack O' Lope.” 

The guy laughed. “Haha, word play!” He snapped a picture. 

Ford rushed over. “No no, that's fake, everything else in here is fake!” He pushed them back to the cage. “ _This_ is a _real_ paranormal beast. Hey! Fun fact about this little guy: if you stare into its eyes you'll see your worst nightmare!” 

They looked. 

The gremloblin's eyes turned a burning yellow. In seconds the tourist's jaws went slack and their eyes opened wide, glowing with same sickly color. 

“Amazing, right?” Ford said. “I work for tips, by the way.”

 

Stanley only noticed the sirens outside long enough to figure out that they weren't from cops. Then he sank down in front of the counter until he hit the floor, exhausted. 

In the last hour he'd worked harder than he ever had for Mabel. With Seandra gone, he'd had to do everything she was supposed to – keep the Shack clean, sell stuff, tell people about the merchandise, push the merchandise on them, mark up the prices, but not too high or nobody would buy anything, and lead tours. He'd long since given up on Fiddleford – the nerd was intent on rebuilding his nerd lab, but now he wanted to make _all four_ walls go up and down. Stan had had to cut him off from the money, so Fiddleford was now working on dismantling the walls to reuse the materials and make a much smaller version of the same structure. Stupid nerd was just like Ford – once he got focused on something, there was no way to pry him loose from an idea unless you turned the hose on him. Unfortunately, even though he really needed the help, Stanley was so tired he could barely think about lifting anything, let alone a garden hose. 

He heard the front ding. Ford walked in and sat down next to him, looking almost as bad as Stanley felt. 

“Welp, I just made two people go insane,” Ford said numbly. “How's your day going?”

Stan groaned. “I know I told everybody they could do whatever they wanted, but Seandra actually left to go do research at the library. I've been doing _her_ job _plus_ mine all day.” 

“Well, maybe you need to start laying some ground rules around here.” 

“No way, I'm gonna prove my way is better!” Stan set his jaw. “I just need to rip off tourists and everything'll work out fine.” 

Suddenly there was a ground-shaking roar and a hideous tourist burst through the wall of the Shop. A split second later Stanley realized it wasn't a tourist at all – it was a horrible green monster with huge tusks and a stench like rotten eggs. He screamed. 

All the remaining tourists immediately fled. 

“No – COME BACK! I NEED THE MONEY IN YOUR WALLETS!” Stanley shouted. He started to go after them but Ford yanked him back and they hid behind the counter. Stan peeked out as the monster smashed a table of bobbleheads. “What the heck is that?!” 

“It's a gremloblin – I found it in the woods – but I had it in a locked cage!” 

“Tell me you didn't use the cage with the trick lock in it!” 

“There's a cage with a trick lock?” 

“Are you kidding? It's the same one Mabel had for your wolf boy routine, the one I talked her out of!” 

“Um, oops.” 

They ducked as the postcard rack went flying and impaled the wall a foot above their heads. 

Stanley sat behind the counter. “We need help. Where's Ria?” 

“Um, I sort of asked her if she could be the bait to help me catch another monster, and then...” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Sort of, um, forgot her?” 

“ _Are you kidding me?!_ ” 

 

Ria finally managed to stand up again after falling down for the fifth time. She sighed. 

“Ford? I don't think this is going to work,” she called. 

No answer. 

“Er...Ford...?” 

Something howled close by. She peered at it through the trees. “Perro...?” 

 

The monster took a giant leap and sent a box of fake eyes flying through the air. They were still hiding behind the counter, but they could see into the den since it had busted straight through the dividing wall. The TV had somehow been turned on, and the screen flicked to a live scene from _Pop Quiz For Adults._

The show's host was standing next to Mabel, looking grudgingly impressed. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, Mabel Pines is poised to become our next Grand Champion. Anything you'd like to say to your fans out there, Mabel?” 

Mabel grinned at the camera. “See you tomorrow night, Stanley!” she sang, holding up the 'I Was Wrong' shirt. It now looked like something the 60's vomited up, with so many iron-on stars, hearts, and rhinestones it looked like a fabric hippie disco ball. “Bet you're gonna look _great_ in your new shirt!” 

Stanley shuddered. 

 

Ford waited until the gremloblin looked away, then grabbed Stan's hand and made a run from the Employees Only door. It wasn't much of a cover, given that there was still a giant hole in the wall right next to them, but at least it got them farther out of the monster's range while he figured out what to do. He peeked out to check on it. 

The monster snarled, spinning around, and he and Stanley pressed themselves against the wall, not even daring to breathe. They waited until they heard the gremloblin shuffle to the other side of the Gift Shop. 

Stanley cracked open the Employee's Only door. The monster had picked up Stan's fake-gold glasses – they didn't even realize he'd dropped them – and was picking off the rhinestones one at a time. 

“Oh, come on! I paid $2.99 for that!” Stan hissed. He shut the door. “Check the journal, Ford, how do we get rid of this thing?!” 

Ford took out the journal and turned it to the page he'd marked. “Uh – okay, got it.” He skipped through the description and went straight to the instructions at the bottom of the page. “'When fighting a gremloblin use water...'” 

“Got it!” Stanley raced off. 

But Ford wasn't done with the sentence. He turned the page and continued reading. “'...only as a last resort, as water will make him much much scarier'?! Who writes sentences like that?!” 

He spun around. 

Stanley had splashed a glass of water in the gremloblin's face. It howled and clawed at its cheeks, scrubbing its eyes. Stan yelled in fear and made it back to the wall just in time. 

The gremloblin crouched down on all fours, its muscles bulging, as its whole body seemed to get twice as big. Huge bone spikes jutted from its spine. It roared, and its teeth like long glistening dinner knives, its claws as long as a tiger's. 

Ford shrank back, certain that the gremloblin was going to tear right through the wall like wet tissue paper. He and Stan grabbed hands and prepared for their inevitable evisceration – 

_Cu-ckoo!_

They blinked. The cuckoo-clock on the wall was going off. 

_Cu-ckoo! _said the clock again. _Cu-___

__The gremloblin disintegrated it with a blast of fire from its eyes._ _

__“The journal didn't say anything about that,” Ford squeaked._ _

__“Well – it's gotta leave eventually, right?” Stanley asked nervously. “I mean – there's nothing edible in the fridge, and it's got nothing to eat here, right?”_ _

___Except for two highly edible preteens,_ they thought, but neither one of them said it. _ _

__They settled down to wait. There was no way they could sneak past the hole in the wall. It was too wide for them to jump it, and the floor was covered with glass shards and splinters from when the monster burst into the Gift Shop. On the plus side, Ford reasoned, the gremloblin didn't seem to have much of a sense of smell, or it would've found them already. On the down side, it seemed to like destroying the Gift Shop in new and creative ways._ _

__And, as the evening wore on, it _would not leave._ _ _

__It had eventually gotten distracted from its rampage by the fish on the wall. And it liked it, because it did nothing after that but sit in front of it, hitting the button to make it sing over and over and over and over. After hitting the button for the six hundred and eighteenth time, Ford was just about ready to go on a rampage himself, and Stanley was close to clawing out his eardrums._ _

__“Uuuugh, why doesn't he just _leave?!_ ” Stanley demanded, not even bothering to lower his voice. There was no way the gremloblin could hear them over the fish, anyway. _ _

__“There's gotta be some way we can distract him,” Ford said. They peeked through the door again._ _

__Stan gasped. The gremloblin had found Stan's jar of cash and was tipping it straight into his mouth._ _

__“Hey! THAT'S MY MONEY!”_ _

__“Stanley, wait –”_ _

__Stanley ran straight up to the monster, shouting for it to stop. The gremloblin looked down. It snarled and swiped at Stanley. Ford grabbed his brother's arm and yanked as hard as he could, just in time. The monster swiped the air where Stanley had been, shredding the front of Stan's sweatshirt to ribbons._ _

__Fiddleford chose that moment to enter the shop, one side of his clothes covered in black powder, the other spotted with grease stains._ _

__“Hey, Stanley, have you seen my...” He trailed off, looking up at the gremloblin, his eyes getting wider and wider. The monster turned and spotted him. Fiddleford's face went pale. “Oh, my...”_ _

__“Run, Fiddleford!” Ford shouted._ _

__But Fiddleford didn't have time to take one step before the monster lunged, grabbing him with both hands and squeezing his breath out._ _

__“HEY! You leave him alone!” Ford jumped onto the monster's back and started pounding on his skull. The gremloblin roared with rage and Fiddleford screamed, his face gone as white as chalk._ _

__Stanley looked up. “Ford! Watch out!”_ _

__The gremloblin let go of Fiddleford with one hand and swiped at his back, knocking Ford off. He landed with a nasty bounce and rolled into a broken shelf, inches from a one-eyed vampire skull._ _

___You're next, kid_ , the skull seemed to say. _ _

__Stanley grabbed a piece of broken wood and leaped forward, smacking the hand that held Fiddleford. “LEGGO O' MY MINION!” he shouted, and hit the beast's knuckles so hard the wood snapped._ _

__The monster howled at the splinters stuck in its fingers. It grabbed Stanley with its free hand and started to shake him back and forth._ _

__Ford sat up, gasping and clutching his ribs. “Don't panic! And don't look into his evil eye! You'll see your worst nightmare!”_ _

__“ _Don't panic?!_ ” Fiddleford said shrilly. “How are we supposed to _NOT PANIC?!_ ” _ _

__The monster stopped shaking him and for a second Stanley just hung there, dazed. Then Ford noticed the reason why the monster stopped: he was glaring at Fiddleford, its eyes a sickly neon yellow. And Fiddleford's eyes were glowing exactly the same way._ _

__“That's bad,” he heard Stan mumble. He kicked the air uselessly. “Bad, bad monster...”_ _

__For a second Ford froze up. How was he supposed to fight a thing like that when even the journal couldn't help him?! _No, no, think, Ford, think –_ _ _

__And then he saw the key to victory, lying just a few feet away._ _

__“HEY YOU!” Ford shouted._ _

__Stanley and the monster both turned to look._ _

__Ford ran right up to the monster. “Take a look at _this!_ ” He whipped out the mirror, angling it so the monster could see into his own reflection. For a second, the monster just stood there, its eyes still glowing ominously. Then its expression changed to one of utter horror. It dropped Fiddleford and Stanley, burst out crying, sprouted wings, and crashed right through the door of the shop, smashing apart yet another wall. It also managed to clip the top of the totem pole on its way back to the forest, sending the eagle plummeting to the ground. Ford winced. That was going to be one expensive clean-up. _ _

__“Well that was exciting,” he said, looking down. Then he froze._ _

__Fiddleford was slowly sitting up, shaking and checking himself all over, as if he was sure a piece of him had fallen off somewhere. His one and only friend definitely looked traumatized by the experience. But Ford was more concerned with something else: Stanley was lying prone on the floor, his eyes staring up at the ceiling._ _

__And he wasn't moving._ _

__“Oh my god.” Ford dropped the mirror and dove for his brother, kneeling next to him and quickly checking his breathing._ _

__Fiddleford whimpered. “I-is he...?”_ _

__“He's alive, but – Stanley!” Ford tapped his brother's cheeks lightly. “Oh my god, Stanley, _Stanley!_ ” _ _

__His brother blinked slowly, and Ford let out a sigh that was almost a sob. “Sweet Sagan's soup, Stanley, you almost gave me a heart attack! Can you sit up?”_ _

__Stanley sat up slowly, wordlessly. His eyes were odd, Ford noticed – same color, same pupil shape, but something about them was...different. But it was hard to tell what, because he wasn't meeting Ford's eyes._ _

__Stanley looked around and groaned. “Oh, man, this place is a _mess!_ ” _ _

__Fiddleford was starting to babble. “What was that, I just walked in, I ran out of nails and I just wanted to fix the roof, and there was this thing, this really big green thing, and the eyes, it had _glowing yellow eyes –_ ”_ _

__Just then Seandra and Ria showed up._ _

__“Oh, perfect, you're here!” Stanley sprang to his feet._ _

__“Totally, dude!” Seandra said, nodding eagerly. “I gotta say, this no-rules thing of yours is the _best!_ Do you know how much research I can get done on a weekday?” _ _

__“Don't know, don't care!” Stanley said. “We've got seven hours left and our profits are in some monster's guts, but if we hurry we can still beat Mabel!”_ _

__“Yeah, uh, I sort of got this great lead on a conspiracy involving the natural history museum, so I gotta take the rest of the day off.”_ _

__Stanley stared at her. “ _Excuse_ me?!” _ _

__“And I may have been adopted by a pack of wolves,” Ria said, gesturing. Her Questiony the Question Mark costume had been ripped off on the bottom and replaced with a kilt of rabbit furs stitched together with sap and pine needles. Several long gray wolf hairs were stuck to the sap. “I really should be at the den right now. I promised the pups I would make a beautiful rabbit kilt for each of them.”_ _

__“See you tomorrow!” Seandra called, waving as the two of them left._ _

__Ford looked at Stanley. His face was slowly turning purple._ _

__“Uh, Stan–”_ _

__“ _THAT'S ENOUGH!_ ” Stanley bellowed, and all four of them jumped. Stanley jabbed a finger at them. “I have HAD it! We fought a MONSTER to save this business, and this is how you repay me!? I'm gonna get an ULCER from you're lolly-gagging!” _ _

__“'Lollygagging'?” Seandra repeated._ _

__“'Ulcer'?” Ria squinted at him. “You are acting...different.”_ _

__“You shut your yaps!”_ _

__“Nope, that's our Stan,” Seandra said dryly. Ford snickered. He went to go help Fiddleford while Stanley kept yelling. He was mostly focused on Ria and Seandra, anyway._ _

__“You okay?” Ford asked._ _

__Fiddleford definitely didn't look okay. He looked like he was about to curl up in the fetal position and cry._ _

__“What was that?” Fiddleford asked, hugging himself, shivering hard. His eyes sought Ford's. “Stanford? What was that?”_ _

__“A gremloblin. Part gremlin, part goblin. Native to the forests of Gravity Falls, generally pretty heavy sleepers, and, as you saw, able to sprout –”_ _

__“No,” Fiddleford said quietly. “I-I mean...what I saw...”_ _

__“Ah, yes, that.” Ford swallowed. “That was, um, probably your worst nightmare.” _It was enough to make two people go insane.__ _

__Fiddleford shuddered._ _

__Stanley had jumped onto the counter and was still yelling at the others. “No buts except yours on the floor cleaning!” he shouted. “Now quit stalling and GET TO WORK!”_ _

__“Yes, Stanley,” Seandra said quickly._ _

__“That's 'Yes, BOSS!'”_ _

__Stanley stomped his foot so hard that the shelf behind him rattled. Mabel's fez fell down and landed on Stanley's head. He pushed it back, and it fit him perfectly._ _

__“And YOU!” he shouted, rounding on Fiddleford. Fiddleford jumped a mile and looked up at Stanley, clearly frightened._ _

__Ford frowned, giving his brother a very clear Look. _This guy needs a break, Stanley. Cut him some slack._ _ _

__Stanley sighed. “Just...go sit in the kitchen and drink some water or something. _Please_ ,” he added, wincing. _ _

__“Here, I'll make you some of Mabel's cocoa,” Ford said, helping his friend to his feet._ _

__Stanley grunted. “Well make it quick, Poindexter, 'cuz we got a lot of work to do and I need all hands on deck!”_ _

__

__Stan gave more orders in the next seven hours than he'd ever given in his life. And people _obeyed_. (It might have had something to do with the half-crazy look in his eye). _ _

__He wished he had time to let the power go to his head, but he was too busy working. He left the TV on in the den so he could monitor Mabel's progress. While she earned hundreds of dollars every second, he was forced to spend equal amounts getting construction workers to rush the repair jobs so he could use the space for tours and selling merchandise._ _

__“TIME IS MONEY, HARDHATS!” he shouted at them through a microphone. “I'M NOT PAYIN' YOU TO LOLLYGAG!”_ _

__“You're not paying us at all!”_ _

__The comment came from those two kids they'd met on Halloween. They'd been walking by and Stanley had basically drafted them into helping clean up the litter on the lawn._ _

__“TOO BAD!” Stanley roared. “YOU GOT COMPLAINTS, FILE THEM WITH THE COMPLAINT DEPARTMENT!” He held up a trash can just as a tour bus drove up. “SIXER! WE GOT TOURISTS AT NINE O' CLOCK!”_ _

__Sixer appeared next to him in seconds. “I'm here,” he panted. “I sent Fiddleford home. Seandra's in the Gift Shop like you said, but what are we supposed to show them?” He gestured to the bus. “Real magic just freaks people out!”_ _

__“FIGURE SOMETHING OUT, KNUCKLEHEAD!”_ _

__Stan didn't wait to hear Ford's answer. He raced back to check on Mabel's progress. She was literally standing in a mound of money as high as her armpits. He gasped and ran straight to the Gift Shop._ _

__“SEANDRA! MARK UP THOSE PRICES THREE HUNDRED PERCENT!”_ _

__“Okay, okay!” Seandra said, wincing at the megaphone. She quickly took out her sharpie and started marking up everything._ _

__“AND SELL EVERYTHING IN THE LOST-AND-FOUND BIN AS SLIGHTLY USED BY GHOSTS!” he added, and dashed back out. The construction guy supervisor went up to him holding up a clip board._ _

__“'Scuse me, who do we talk to about getting paid?”_ _

__“Gimme that,” Stanley said, grabbing for the clipboard._ _

__The man stepped back. “'Scuse me?”_ _

__Stanley ground his teeth. “ _Please_ give me that.” Stupid adults. _ _

__The guy handed it over. Stanley looked it over, grabbed a pen from the top of the clipboard and started scratching items of the list. “Don't do that...or that...or that...”_ _

__“Some of that stuff we have to do to bring it up to code.”_ _

__Stanley squinted at him. “Code, as in secret text disguised as an alien language?”_ _

__“Code, as in if you don't do it your house could burn down and you get arrested.”_ _

__“Ugh, fine. Unscratch, unscratch. _That_ stays scratched. Make it happen.” He handed the clipboard back with a hundred-dollar bill placed on top. _ _

__The guy smiled. “Works for me!”_ _

__It was nonstop bossing people and Stanley actually drank straight Mabel Juice to keep up with everything. Now he knew why his Grauntie made the stuff in the first place. He'd thought telling people what to do would be fun, but if he wanted them to do it, he actually had to ask _nicely_ and then make sure they actually did it! He spent two minutes nagging for every second he spent giving orders. Not to mention all the running around! _ _

__When the Shack finally closed, he gave the Summerween kids ten bucks each if they agreed not to toilet paper the Shack. They raised it to fifteen and he told them to get their butts off the lawn before he called the cops for vandalism._ _

__“But we didn't do anything yet!” one of them cried._ _

__Stan held up a tape recorder._ _

__“ _But we didn't do anything yet!_ ” _ _

__“Take your ten bucks and go, or come back and I'll have something very interesting for the cops to hear,” he said firmly._ _

__Grumbling, they took the cash and stomped off. Stanley didn't have time to gloat over his victory. By the look of the sun, Mabel was due back in the next ten minutes._ _

__He dashed back to the Shack and told Ria to change back into her regular clothes. (Apparently Ford had put her on display as the “Wondering Wolf Woman – Part Question Mark, Part Wolf, Part Woman!') Then he gathered them all together in the Gift Shop and had them group the bills into stacks $100 each. He gave the construction work receipt to Ford and told him to figure out the day's profits, then started counting. They had about three minutes left before Mabel's return. Did the bet still count if they didn't know how much of a profit Stan had made?_ _

__“Hurry, hurry,” he started to mutter, as the clock ticked behind him._ _

__“I'm hurrying, I'm hurrying,” Ford said, counting in his head so fast Stan could almost see his brain-gears working._ _

__They'd filled the whole jar full of cash, but it didn't look like much when it was stacked out on the counter._ _

__Ford pulled out Mabel's century-old calculator and started doing the math._ _

__“Minus the money to replace all the furniture,” he muttered. “...supplies to fix the Shack...that leaves us with...”_ _

__Stan leaned over and looked at the total._ _

__“ _One dollar?!_ ” _ _

__The door opened suddenly and all four of them looked up. Mabel stood silhouetted in the doorway, suitcase in one hand, clock in the other. It was flashing neon-green zeroes of certain death. She grinned._ _

__“Tick-tock, Stanley. Time's up.”_ _

__Stanley winced._ _

__“Hey, nice to see you learned how to dress while I was gone!”_ _

__He looked down. With his _VICTORY_ sweatsuit ruined, he'd changed into that stupid tux he got from Bud. Ford was wearing his usual clothes, but he'd worn Mabel's eye patch to look more mysterious. Ford flipped up the patch, the better to glare at Mabel on Stanley's behalf. _ _

__Stan appreciated the support, but he'd lost, and he knew it. He slumped. “How much did you beat us by,” he muttered._ _

__She grinned wider. “I won 300,000 dollars!”_ _

__They gasped._ _

__Her face fell. “And then...”_ _

__“You lost it all in the bonus round?” Stan asked hopefully._ _

__“What? No, no, I got that one easy. As if there's a single fact on female snipers in World War II that I _don't_ know.” She rolled her eyes. “Them ladies are hard core. No, I'd sort of made one contestant break down on Day 1 by answering questions too quickly. Her quack of a psychiatrist decided to make her try and sue the show for giving her 'mental stress'.” _ _

__Stanley snorted._ _

__“I know, right?” Mabel agreed. “Anyway, the show persuaded her to try and sue _me_ , so I had to agree to an out-of-court settlement which exactly equalled every penny I'd won.” _ _

__“I'm impressed,” Stanley said thoughtfully. “And yet...outraged.”_ _

__“Thanks, buddy.” She ruffled his hair._ _

__Suddenly Ford spoke up. “Wait. If you lost _everything_ , that means...Stanley, you won!” _ _

__“I did?”_ _

__Seandra and Ria cheered._ _

__“Wait, what did we win?” Ria asked._ _

__Mabel sighed. “Well, according to our agreement, I guess Stanley's the new...boss?”_ _

__“NO!”_ _

__Stan and Ford jumped off their seats at the counter and ran to their Grauntie. Each of them grabbed a leg and hung on tightly. Seandra and Ria ran forward and grabbed her arms._ _

__She stared around at them. “Huh, wha...?”_ _

__Stan looked up at her. “Grauntie Mabel, I had no idea how hard it was being the boss. This place was crazy as a monkey with chilli peppers in its pants until I started barking orders like you!” He took off the fez and held it up to her. “ _Please_ never make us do that again.” _ _

__She blinked at him. Then she took the hat and put it on. A weird little smile was playing around her mouth, like her heart was swelling up and she was filled with both joy and chest pain._ _

__“Yeah, well...” She reached down and ruffled Stan's hair again. “I gotta admit...It's kinda good to be back, y'know?”_ _

__“Group hug!” Ria declared, and they huddled in and wrapped their arms around their Grauntie._ _

__Mabel sniffed. “Ria, why do you smell like dog breath and styrofoam?”_ _

__Ford broke away from the hug. “Hey Stanley, didn't your agreement say something about Mabel waxing your car?”_ _

__“What? No it didn't!” Mabel said quickly._ _

__Stanley grinned. “Actually, yes, yes it did.”_ _

__“No, that never happened!”_ _

__Seandra laughed. “Wax on, wax off, Ms. Pines!”_ _

__Ria squealed. “Ooooh, I love that movie!”_ _

__Mabel sighed. “Alright. Let me just –” She whipped around and dashed out the door._ _

__Stanley chased after her. “GRAUNTIE MABEL GET BACK HERE!”_ _

__

__Ford lay down that night, as exhausted as he'd been that day they went hiking with Mabel and got lost and ended up hiking an extra twenty-two miles and hitchhiking on a grizzly bear's back. (Mabel lured it with a banana and then tamed it by threatening to explode glitter bombs everywhere. The poor bear even gave Stanley a Look like, _Dudes, I am so sorry for what you put up with._ ) _ _

__All in all, though, Ford was definitely glad to have Mabel back at the Shack. They ate on a regular basis – even if it was only edible half the time, but she was getting better at cooking – and the house was definitely less creepy at night. Stan and Ford had actually slept in her chair the last two nights, falling asleep over bowls of popcorn and watching reruns of whatever was on that wouldn't kill them with boredom. It had been hard to fall asleep, with the house creaking and moaning all the time. If Stanley hadn't been there, Ford probably would've just stayed up all night reading or journaling or doing “nerd stuff” to take his mind off of it._ _

__He rolled over in bed and looked at Stan. His brother was lying flat on his back, his arms spread-eagled, the blanket tangled around his feet. His mouth was open and he was drooling. Ford smiled. His brother sure was a goofball._ _

__Something made Stanley snort his in sleep and he curled up on his side, facing Ford. Ford lay on his side and faced Stanley, too. Stanley had probably worked harder than anyone getting the Shack back in shape. He bet if Stanley ever took over the family Pawn Shop, he'd run it better than their dad ever could..._ _

__His stomach gave a sharp twist and he shoved the thought away. He curled up into a ball._ _

__He had to admit, he hadn't done as well today as Stanley had. Who knew that real supernatural stuff could be actually dangerous? Well – Ford knew it was dangerous, but he'd never gotten hurt before. Not seriously. He hadn't gotten hurt this time, either, but he'd driven two people certifiably insane._ _

__And maybe Fiddleford, too._ _

__Granted, the guy had been walking and talking okay when he left, but his face had acquired the slate-gray hue of a crumbling tombstone, and his fingers had trouble gripping things. He wasn't making much sense when he talked, either, just throwing out enough nouns and verbs until people understood what he wanted. Ford squeezed his eyes shut. Fiddleford was the only person, besides Stan, that Ford could talk to and not feel like a freak. And he was the only person he could talk to on the level about anything scientific. Online college courses weren't the same – everybody thought he was older. Nobody knew him for who he was. Not like Fiddleford. What if Ford had just broken the first friend he'd ever made?_ _

__He balled himself up tighter, but this time he couldn't block it out. His stomach hurt. He still remembered the look on Fiddleford's face when Ford had gone to help him, the way his eyes had looked when they met Ford's. They reminded him of something...they looked like –_ _

__Ford sat up suddenly, a silent gasp on his lips. He looked sharply at his brother, but the way Stanley was curled up, his face was buried in his knees, hidden by his hair._ _

__Fiddleford's eyes had looked just like Stanley's eyes, right after Ford had held up the mirror. Stanley must've gotten a look at the gremloblin's reflection. Ford had checked his brother after the monster dropped him, but he was so relieved that Stanley was alright that he hadn't noticed it right away. Yet Fiddleford's eyes had looked exactly the same. They had the same dark, terrible look in their depths._ _

__They looked _haunted.__ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couldn't decide whether to give Fiddleford nightmares to align with Gravity Falls canon, or give Stan nightmares for that little extra Stangst we love so much. So I thought: Option 3! I AM NOT SORRY! 
> 
> (I am a little sorry.)


	6. Boss Stan Short

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alert! Alert! Major Journal 3 spoilers ahead!

Ford rang the doorbell. In the silence that followed, he shifted nervously from foot to foot. 

It had been a couple of days since the whole “Gremloblin” incident. Fiddleford hadn't come by the Shack once, or answered any of Ford's calls. Ford hadn't realized the beast had freaked out his friend so much. 

The door finally opened. Mr. McGucket stood in the doorway, ducking slightly. He was much taller than Ford had expected and he stepped back quickly. Mr. McGucket had thick curly brown hair that nearly hid his eyes, but other than that he was basically an older version of Fiddleford – same nose, same long limbs. 

“Is Fiddleford home?” Ford asked, craning his neck. 

Mr. McGucket looked at him sternly over the steel rims of his spectacles. “He is. Good afternoon, Stanford. Would you care to tell me what, exactly, transpired at the Shack? Fiddleford insists that nothing happened at all – yet he came home white as a sheet and has barely left his room since.” 

“He, uh...” Ford swallowed. He was starting to wish Stanley was there. 

“Pa?” 

Fiddleford walked up behind his father. He certainly looked awful – he had bags under his eyes and his skin was all pale, like he hadn't slept much. “Oh...hi, Stanford.” 

Ford shifted, his hands clasped behind his back. “Hi. How, uh, how've you been?” 

“Bad.” 

“I thought so. I mean – I mean I guessed you weren't doing well, so...” He brought his hands from behind his back and held up two slips of paper. 

Fiddleford squinted at them. Then his eyes went wide and he grabbed his father's pant leg in excitement. “Stanford – are those...?!” 

Ford smiled. “Sure are! Tickets to the Carnival!” 

 

Ford had read in the paper that “Mama Misfortune's Traveling Carnival and Freak Show” would be in town for the day. He'd been swindled enough back home in New Jersey, and he knew from personal experience with his family that most of that carnival stuff was always fake. But sometimes there was something real mixed in with the fakes that was worth taking a look. And he thought it might cheer up his friend. 

Apparently he'd been right. Mr. McGucket dropped them off in the parking lot at the mall, where a huge section of the lot had been cordoned off to accommodate the carnival. Fiddleford stared around, gawking like a Mystery Shack tourist.

“Ford, look! Pig races! There's a pig race in twenty minutes! You think we could watch? Stanley'd probably love it if we bet on a pig for him. Hey do you think they have one of those hay bale mazes? Oooh! Kettle corn! Wow, check it out, Ford, they have radish-flavored kettle corn!” 

“ _Radish_ -flavored?” 

“And jelly beans! Here, you get the beans, I'll get the corn!” 

Ford bought the snacks – they'd come on his invitation, after all – and they started exploring the Carnival. 

So far, in terms of cheering his friend, Stanford considered the carnival a success. The actual attractions, however, left much to be desired. There was a long aisle of animal exhibits on one side of the Carnival, but there was nothing mysterious or paranormal about any of them. One of them was literally a chicken duct-taped to a silverback gorilla. A plaque called it the Gour-Icken. 

“It's like something from the Mystery Shack museum,” Ford said with distaste. 

Fiddleford loved it. “Look, the gorilla's got a party hat!” 

“Yes, and he looks absolutely _thrilled _to be part poultry.”__

__“Alright, alright – hey, how about this?” Fiddleford tugged him over to the next exhibit: a lobster taped to a rabbit's back. “Check it out! The 'Crabbit'!”_ _

__“What is it with taping things to people's backs?”_ _

__Fiddleford laughed. “What d'you think people would call us if we did that? The StanFiddle?”_ _

__“The FordFord.”_ _

__“The Ford squared!” they said together, and laughed._ _

__They finished with the the animals in time to watch the Pig Races. Fiddleford placed a bet under the name “Stanley” (for luck) and won first prize using advanced probability calculations. Ford had to admire his technique, if not his end._ _

__The prize was ten dollars. Fiddleford took it, dumped his empty kettle corn bucket and grabbed Ford's hand._ _

__“C'mon! I know exactly what we're going to do next!”_ _

__He promptly dragged Ford over to a slim maroon tent with two slender pillars in front of the door, supporting a large wooden triangle with an eye in the middle. A wooden hand was set at the apex of the triangle. There was a long line of people in front, staring at their palms and whispering to each other in excitement as they slowly inched towards the tent's door. It reminded him a lot of the Tent of Telepathy, and it only took one guess to figure out what might be inside._ _

__“A _palm reader?_ ” Ford looked at his friend. “You've got to be kidding.” _ _

__“Why not?”_ _

__“Fiddleford, you _do_ know my mom's a fake phone psychic, right?” Ford waved his free hand at the tent. “People like that are almost _always_ charlatans. They just scam people and tell them exactly what they want to hear.” _ _

__Fiddleford's face practically shone with excitement. “But that's why this is so perfect!” he exclaimed. “You've got experience with this kind of thing! And what fake charlatan could make up a prediction on the spot for a six-fingered hand? It would totally throw them off their game. You're the perfect person to figure out if she's a real psychic or not!”_ _

__It _did_ sound intriguing. “Well...”_ _

__Fiddleford grinned even wider and threw in his trump card: “Plus imagine if you told Seandra you'd exposed a fake psychic on your own at the local fair!”_ _

__Ten minutes later Ford found himself in the tent, sitting at a small wooden table across from a strange, gnarled old crone with a warty nose, bugged-out eyes, and white hair with the texture of straw. There was a crystal ball and a deck of Tarot cards on the table between them. The place stank of incense._ _

__Ford had stuffed his hands into his jacket for the element of surprise. He raised an eyebrow at the so-called “psychic”._ _

__“So, are you gonna read my future in the ball, or...?”_ _

__She cackled and reached out her hands. “Cross my palm with silver, Sixer.”_ _

__He jumped. How did she know his name?_ _

__He paid the woman without a word and she grabbed the deck of Tarot cards. She shuffled them, muttering to herself, and then placed four cards in a row on the table: a mountain lake, a snake slithering through the hole in a triangle, a woman with twin blades, and a skull. The woman peered at them near sightedly and shrieked. Ford jumped again and scowled darkly. The theatrics were really starting to get on his nerves._ _

__She looked at him sympathetically. “A terrible deceiver draws close to you,” she whispered. Her voice didn't sound at all dramatic or husky, just human, and somehow that made it even more unnerving. “If you are not careful, you will choose the wrong allies.”_ _

__“That's just vague enough to work for just about anybody,” Ford muttered._ _

__She snapped her fingers in his face, and for the third time in two minutes he jumped._ _

__“Stop _doing_ that!” _ _

__“Listen to me, child,” she croaked. “The fate of millions of lives will rest in the palms of your hands. No matter how rude you are. Here...I will give you a gift to help you make the right choice.”_ _

__She extended her hand and dropped a small ring onto the table. The metal looked cheap, but there was an odd blue stone in the setting. It glimmered like the surface of a deep pool of water, throwing glimmers of light even in the dark tent. He picked it up, fascinated._ _

__The crone nodded when she saw him take it. “When this is blue, you may pull through...when this is black, you _can't turn back._ ” _ _

__

__Fiddleford was waiting outside the tent when Ford finally emerged. “Well?” he said eagerly. “Is she a real psychic or what?”_ _

__Ford looked at his friend. _A terrible deceiver draws close to me? Hah! Fiddleford doesn't have a deceptive bone in his body.__ _

__“I think inhaling incense for fifty years has messed with her brain,” Ford said coldly. “Come on – I saw some weird-looking squashes over there that looked like something I saw in the journal. Let's go check them out!”_ _

__“Weird-looking squash? Oh! D'you think we could pretend they're haunted squash? That would make one dandy Halloween lantern!”_ _

__Ford laughed along with his friend and pointedly did not glance over his shoulder at the Palmistry tent. It was hardly rocket science to take one look at his hands and guess what his nickname could be. And so what if she didn't hesitate when she'd counted his fingers? With all that incense clogging up the air, it's a wonder she could count at all. And calling Fiddleford a deceiver? Hah! That made about as much sense as hoarding leprecorn gold. That stuff, like the Palmist, was just a cheap imitation of the real thing._ _

__He spent the rest of the day letting Fiddleford lead him from attraction to attraction. Most of them were pretty corny, including a unicorn actually _made of corn_ (he made a mental note to tell Mabel about that one). By the end of the day, when Mr. McGucket picked them up, even he commented how happy and contented his son now looked. Ford had even gotten that neat blue ring, which he thought Stanley might like, since it reminded him of a glittering blue ocean. _ _

__All in all, Ford considered the day a success._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I realized I could write a short about the carnival that would actually match canon I SAW MY CHANCE AND I TOOK IT. 
> 
> I also squealed. Out loud. In public. Then I had to pretend I'd found a great deal on blenders at Walmart and walked around with one for ten minutes. 
> 
> #whenyouvolleybetweentorturingyourcharactersandgivingthemfluffyhappytimes


	7. Bottomless Pit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been doing shorts for every single episode. You'd think an episode made of shorts would be easy. Right? Wrong. SO WRONG. 
> 
> So I took some inspiration from ACTUAL Gravity Falls shorts and here it is – blood, sweat, several hairs I pulled out, and 75 hours of my life! WOOHOO I LOVE YOU COFFEE.

Mabel stomped on the brake, and the golf cart squealed to a stop. Ria, Stan, and Ford got out, following Mabel to her newest attraction: the Bottomless Pit. 

“In this land of ours there are many great pits,” she said. “Cherry pits, armpits, Brad Pitts –”

“Ew,” said Stan. 

“But none more bottomless than the Bottomless Pit, which as you can see here is bottomless.” 

She gestured. There was a giant black hole in the ground with a wooden sign next to it, reading _Bottomless Pit_. 

Stanley picked up a rock and dropped it, waiting to hear the plink. 'Cuz one thing he knew from leaving that bucket in the backyard one time, was even an empty hole would get filled up by dew and rain. 

But he listened, and he heard nothing. He frowned. “Hmm...” 

“Question,” Ria said, raising her hand. “Is it bottomless?” 

Mabel sighed. “Kids, could one of you try explaining this to Ria?” 

Ford looked annoyed. “Grauntie Mabel, why are we here again?” 

“To dispose of things that we don't want!” she said cheerfully, taking a bunch of pink letters from her jacket. “Goodbye, creepy letters from that stalker Gideon! _Die, die!_ ” 

Stanley grinned and ran to get something from the Shack to throw in. When he came back, Ria was taking off her shoes and chucking them into the hole. 

“What are you doing?” Ford asked. 

“Throwing things! It's quite fun!” She ran off to get more ammo. 

Stanley grunted, shoving a huge padlocked box toward the hole. It was so heavy it left a trail of dug-up dirt in its path. Finally Stan reached the edge and stopped, panting. 

“Whatcha got there, kiddo?” Mabel asked. 

“Nothing that will ever see the light of day!” Stan said firmly, and immediately shoved the box down the hole. “GOODBYE FOREVER!” 

Ford, as usual, was being a stick in the butt. (Stick in the mud? Stick in cement? All three, probably.) “Grauntie Mabel, do I really have to be the one to point out that a Bottomless Hole is, by definition, impossible?” 

“Says you,” Mabel said. She was now shaking letter after letter out of her fez. 

Stanley raised an eyebrow. “You believe in magic crystals and gremloblins, but a _bottomless pit_ is where you draw the line?” 

“I am a scientist,” Ford said, all haughty. 

Stanley opened his mouth to reply, but suddenly a strong wind picked up. Like, really strong. It actually pushed him right into Ford. 

“Hey!” Ford yelped. 

“It's some kind of invisible pushing force!” Ria exclaimed. 

Ford and Stanley gripped each other to keep from falling over. “Grauntie Mabel, we have to get out of here!” Ford shouted. 

“I'm not done getting rid of these yet!” 

Grauntie Mabel flung more Gleeful letters at the hole, but the wind immediately blew them back in her face. She tried to shove them off and they flew right back. 

“Grauntie Mabel, no!” Stan called. The three of them ran over and tried to literally drag Mabel away, but she was heavier than she looked. She dug her heels into the ground and tried again and again to throw in the letters. 

“It's not working!” Ford shouted, exasperated. “Just leave it and we'll come back another –”

A crazy-strong gust of wind hit Stan's back like someone had just punched him in the ribs. At the same time, Mabel suddenly lost her footing and pinwheeled frantically, but she slipped straight down into the hole, followed immediately by Ford, Stan, and Ria. 

Stanley screamed as the blackness swallowed them whole. 

 

They all screamed for a good five seconds, but nothing happened. They just fell, and fell, and kept falling. In fact, since they couldn't see anything but inky blackness all around them, it was almost like they were floating in midair, with a slight breeze rushing past their ears. 

“So...would anyone like to keep screaming?” Ria asked. “I actually find it quite cathartic.” 

Stan said something in Spanish and Ria laughed. 

Ford ignored them and took out his UFO keychain. He clicked it on and held it up. While it illuminated their faces in its cool pale glow, it did absolutely nothing to dispel the surrounding darkness. “Hmm...hard to discern anything about our surroundings, let alone how far we've fallen.” 

“I'd say...pretty far,” Stan decided. 

“We're gonna land on something eventually,” Ford said nervously. “Could be any second now!” They braced for impact. 

Nothing happened. 

“Well – looks like we're down here for the long haul,” Mabel said. She took a deck of cards out of her jacket. “Anyone wanna see a card trick?” 

She shuffled them and tried to fan them together, but apparently didn't realize that the cards wouldn't fall at the same rate as a human body (unless they were in a vacuum, anyway.) The cards flew straight up and vanished in the blackness. 

“Tada!” Mabel said. 

Stan and Ria clapped. 

“C'mon, this is serious!” Ford said. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Stan said. “We gotta appreciate the... _gravity_ of the situation! Hyuck hyuck hyuck!” 

Ford groaned. 

“Hey! How about we pass the time by telling stories?” Ria asked. 

Ford frowned. “Fine. Here's a story: 'The Time Grauntie Mabel Got Us Thrown into a Bottomless Pit, Where We Spend The Rest Of Our Natural Lives!'” 

Ria nodded slowly. “Go on...” 

“Yeah, c'mon, Dipper, you can do a better story than that!” Stan said. 

“Fine.” He held the UFO light under his chin, lighting his face in a vaguely spooky way. Everyone leaned in to listen. “I've got a story...a story called, ' _The Hide Behind.'_ ”

 

Stan, Ford, and Manly Dan were hiking through the woods. Dan carried his right-handed ax, and Ford and Stan each carried a set of metal spikes and leather straps. 

“What kind of tree are we looking for?” Ford asked, scanning the forest as they walked. “I mean, I'm guessing we'd need something lightweight for the mast. And maybe porous, so it'll float if the boat gets overturned.”

Dan grunted. “You get what you get. Gotta find some young trees. Chop it down, drag it back.” 

“Are you gonna cut it for us?” Stanley asked. 

Dan grunted again. 

Stanley sighed. “Fine. Would a subscription to _Wooden Figurines_ change your mind?” 

“Yes!” 

Stanley grinned at Ford and winked. 

“How come we have to chop down a tree, though?” Ford asked. “There's plenty of fallen ones all around the lake from when we were chased by the Gobblewonker. And there's a lot of them on that one island. We could literally bring the boat to the mast instead of having to drag the mast to the boat.”

Stanley shook his head. “Nah, even assuming we find a really round tree, we'd have to peel off the bark and make sure there's nothing rotting on the inside. That's also why it's better to cut a tree than just pick one up off the ground, because if it's fallen, chances are it'll already have started rotting. We need a mast that's gonna last awhile.” 

Ford was impressed. “Where'd you pick this stuff up?” 

“Internet. Duh!” 

Ford laughed and gave his brother a light shove. 

_Ch-ch-ch-ch-ch._

He jumped. “Hey, did you guys hear that?” 

Stan frowned. “Hear what?” 

“That! Listen.” 

They stopped, but they just heard the birds chirping, the pine needles rustling, and little moist animal-in-dirt sounds under the leaves. Ford stepped quickly toward Stanley, looking around. “I _know_ I heard something.” 

“Keep listening,” Dan grunted. “Forest has dangerous animals. You're the lookout.” 

“Yeah, Sixer! You got those big vulgar ears!” 

“I think you mean 'Vulcan,'” Ford said indignantly. “And you've got the same ears I –”

_Ch-ch-ch-ch-ch._

“There! I heard it! A little rattling noise.” 

Stanley frowned. “I didn't hear anything.” 

But Manly Dan nervously tapped his shoulder with the handle of his ax, looking around sharply. 

“Hide-Behind,” he grunted finally. 

Ford's face lit up. “The Hide-Behind? Are you _serious!?_ ” 

“The what what now?” Stan asked. 

“The Hide-Behind!” Ford whipped out his journal and showed them the page. “Listen! ' _Legends describe a being with an impossible ability to hide before it is seen.'_ Even the author didn't know what it was!” Ford turned to Manly Dan. “Are you sure that was the Hide-Behind? Not like a bird or rabid chipmunk or something? Did we _actually_ just hear the _actual Hide-Behind?!_ I have to write this down! Is it here right now?! I have to get a sketch!” He spun around, faster and faster, trying to catch the Hide-Behind before it could dart out of sight. 

Manly Dan grabbed his head and forced him to stop spinning. “Don't do that when you're holding metal spikes!” he barked. 

“Here.” Stanley plucked the spikes from Ford's arms. “There we go! Okay, Ford, spin! _Spin, spin, spin, spin!_ ”

“Pay attention!” Dan said sharply. “Cutting trees is serious. If you're watching the forest you'll miss the tree.” 

Ford raised an eyebrow. “Is that like some kind of lumberjack koan? 'If a tree falls in the forest –'”

“You'll get squashed if you're not watching!” 

They marched on. A couple of times Ford stopped to check the ground around them for footprints, comparing them to the ones sketched in the journal. In the book, the footprint was shaped a lot like a wrench, but with less space between the cloven toes. Or perhaps a deer with a very long heel. He wondered if the Hide-Behind might be a species of deer – 

“Come _on_ , Sixer, that's the third time you stopped walking!” Stanley said, grabbing the back of Ford's collar. “We actually just walked off without you! Let's go, Dan thinks he found a pretty good tree up ahead.” 

“Great!” Ford shoved the journal into his jacket. “Let's sneak up real quietly. I bet if the Hide-Behind is watching Dan, _we_ can get a good look at the Hide-Behind!” 

Stanley rolled his eyes, but he followed Ford's lead in stepping quietly. Ford was practically holding his breath in excitement. Imagine being the _very first person_ to see the Hide-Behind! 

Dan came into view through the trees. He'd found a young Douglas fir about twenty-five feet tall, and was chopping off all the lower branches. His blade was sharp and his movements quick and efficient. In no time at all, the fir had no branches on the bottom ten feet. 

Dan used one branch like a push-broom to clear the space around the tree. Then he grabbed a strap Stanley had been carrying and looped it around the tree, attaching it to his waist belt. He scooted up the tree in seconds, raised his ax to chop the next branch, and – 

“There!” 

“WAIT!” 

Stan grabbed his brother by the back of his jacket just before he could dart across the clearing. 

“Geez, Ford, that branch could've hit you!” 

Manly Dan scowled down at them. “I TOLD you to pay attention!” he shouted. 

Ford ducked his head, a little embarrassed. “Sorry, it's just I thought I saw it _right there!_ ” 

_Ch-ch-ch-ch-ch._

“See?!” 

“Wait,” Stanley said, looking around. “I thought it came from over there...” 

_Ch-ch-ch-ch-ch._

“...um, or maybe over there?” 

Manly Dan stuck his ax through his belt and held perfectly still as they listened. But there was no other sound. No sound at all. Like the forest had entered a bubble of perfect stillness. 

Stanley shivered. “Welp! I'm creeped out.” 

“I bet we could prove it was there if we checked for footprints!” Ford said. “Hey Manly Dan, can we go check for footprints?” 

“Yes! But pay attention and stay within earshot. Don't get hit by branches!” He took out a solid-steel handsaw from his pocket and started cutting at the next branch. 

Ford grabbed Stanley's hands and they ran in a wide circle around the tree. “Okay, I think I heard it coming from over here first,” Ford said. He took out his flying saucer keychain and scanned the ground, taking special care to look in the shadows. 

“Are we actually going to investigate _dirt?_ ” Stanley asked. 

“We have to conduct a thorough scientific investigation. I wish I'd brought my camera, we could take pictures –”

“Here.” Stanley plopped a camera into his hand. 

“Wow, why'd you bring this?” 

Stanley shrugged. “I pick-pocketed Mabel. You'd be amazed at how many cameras she keeps in her pockets. That, plus glitter glue, a couple of lint balls, and what I'm pretty sure is a ziplock bag of Waddles' drool.” 

“That, I didn't need to know.” 

They spread out, searching the ground carefully. Ford showed Stanley how to step so that he'd only be walking in places they'd already searched. 

They'd been looking for about ten minutes when Stanley spoke up. “Um, Ford, is this it?” 

Ford hurried over. The prints he was pointing at were _exact replicas_ of the ones in the journal. “YES! Yes, Stanley, you did it! Quick, put your hand next to it for scale!” Ford snapped three pictures from three different angles. 

Stanley grinned at him. “Cool, am I going in a scientific magazine with you now?” 

“Definitely! But if we're going to get published, we need to prove that it really exists. We're going to need more than just Hide-Behind calls and footprints – we'll need a photo of the real thing.” 

“So just throw a sheet over a skinny dead tree and call it a day.” 

“ _Stanley!_ That's what frauds would do!” 

“Exactly! And then we'd make a ton of money! I bet we could even get Grauntie Mabel to use it in a real exhibit, too. 'Local Lumberjack Legend: The Stick-Man.'” 

Ford huffed. “You're probably right, but let's just track these things to the actual Hide-Behind anyway, okay?” 

The footprints wound around the fir tree Dan was working on, and based on the way they curled around, it looked like the creature was still in the area. 

Eventually they came to a small pile of rocks the size of a garden shed, collected in the middle of a clearing. They circled it, but the ground around it was packed dirt – no footprints were visible. They triple-checked the dirt _around_ the packed dirt, though, and there were no fresh set of prints leading away. 

“So,” said Stan. “Either he's tall enough to grab a branch and leap away without a sound, or...” 

Ford grinned. “Or he's in that pile of rocks and we just found his lair!” He was practically vibrating with excitement. 

Stan looked skeptical. “I dunno, Sixer. The Hide-Behind is supposed to hang around lumberjacks, right? I'm not seeing any lumberjacks. And if it likes lumberjacks, it likes trees. Why would it hide in a bunch of rocks?” 

_Ch-ch-ch-ch-ch._

They froze. The sound was coming from the pile! 

They shared a Look and searched in silence until the found an opening between two boulders. Ford gestured for Stanley to take the camera and snap a picture of the discovery. They approached quietly, Ford holding out his UFO light so he could shine enough light for a good photo. 

The opening was small, like an almost-perfect inverted triangle, about halfway up in the pile. The slope was gentle enough for Ford to climb easily, keeping his keychain extended. He crept right up to the opening. 

_Ch-ch-ch-ch-ch._

Ford glanced at Stan, who nodded vigorously, camera out. Ford grinned: he could practically see the dollar signs in his brother's eyes. Imagine the fortune – and the _fame_ – if they got this photo! 

Ford held up three fingers. _Three_ , he mouthed. _Two...one!_

He clicked on the light. 

Immediately Stan started flashing pictures – and then stopped. 

“Stanley? What's wrong?” 

Ford looked inside. 

Owls. A family of baby owls, five of them, all holding miniature maracas in their beaks. 

He stared. “Maraca owls? _Five maraca owls!?_ ” 

“What, you were expecting just one?” 

One of the owls shook their maraca, and then the next one, and the next one, all taking turns. 

_Ch-ch-ch-ch-ch._

Ford's face fell. “You have _got_ to be kidding me.” 

Stanley shrugged and started snapping pictures anyway. “Beavers with chainsaws, and owls with maracas. What next, squirrels wearing sweaters?” 

“I think Mabel already did that.” Ford sighed, switching off his keychain. “Man, I thought we were going to catch a real mythical creature here.” 

“'Real mythical creature'. Stanford.” 

“You know what I mean.” 

“It's not so bad. Look, this little suckers are actually kinda cute!” Stan squatted and reached a hand into the nest. “Oh, sweet! Owl pellets!” 

_C-C-CRACK._

“TIIIIMMMBERRRR!” 

They looked around. “Timber?” Ford said. “Wait...doesn't that mean –”

“TREE!” Stan screamed, pointing. 

Dan had apparently chopped down the Douglas Fir without them. They could see it falling close by, which wasn't a problem, since it was falling at an angle to them and they weren't in its way. 

The _problem_ was that the fir hit another, much larger tree, which apparently had a nasty case of rot. There was a loud series of popping and smacking noises, like someone set of fire crackers right in their ears, and the second tree began to slowly lean in their direction. It was falling right on top of them! 

Ford screamed and Stanley grabbed Ford's hand to run. 

_Ch-ch-ch-ch-ch!_

“Wait!” Ford shrieked, diving for the nest. “We can't just leave them here!” 

“If we die for a bunch of maraca owls I WILL KILL YOU!” 

They stuffed all five owls in Ford's jacket and ran as fast as they could at a right-angle away from where the tree was falling. Ford knew something that big was definitely going to send a bunch of stuff flying through the air. He looked back, timed it just right, and then yanked Stanley behind the nearest tree big enough for both of them. Branches and gravel sliced through the air like shrapnel. 

After a long moment, the torrent of sharp sticks slowed. The dust was so thick they couldn't stop coughing. They checked themselves over. They weren't hurt, and neither were the owls, although at some point Stan had dropped the camera. 

They made it back to Dan's clearing. They kept the owls nestled in Ford's jacket while they helped Dan chop up the parts of the tree they didn't need. That would make the tree lighter and easier to drag back to the Stan O' War. Ford and Stan set up the leather straps on the tree, but Dan and Stan did most of the lifting. The owls were so thin they figured the mother owl wasn't around anymore, so Ford carried them in his jacket until they got back to the Shack. Mabel practically swooned and immediately set them up as “The Smallest Band of Maraca-Players Ever” in the Museum, and mothered them until they flew away. Ford wasn't too sorry to see them go. Stanley had started collecting their pellets and digging through them to see how many rodent skulls he could find. That was actually pretty interesting, except that Stanley insisted on keeping the skulls in their room, and Ford felt like they were sometimes watching him. Especially the ones with just one eye socket. 

 

“Speaking of eye sockets...” Mabel looked around, grinning. “I spy with my little eye, something that is...black!” 

Ria raised her hand. “Everything?” 

“Hooray for Ria!” 

“Hooray for Ria!” Ria echoed, clapping her hands. Mabel clapped with her. 

“Bored now,” Stanley announced, falling (floating?) in a reclining positions.

“Hey guys!” Mabel said. “Who wants to pass the time by spinning? Everyone, SPIN!” 

“No,” Ford said flatly. 

She reached over, grabbed his foot, and pushed down hard. Immediately Ford went spinning, cartwheeling slowly in mid-air around the group. There was nothing to slow his momentum, so he just kept spinning. Stanley snickered. 

“Alright, that's pretty funny,” he admitted. “But I'm still getting bored. Ria! Tell another story.” 

“Ok! This one is called...' _The Time We All Went To The Park And Used A Dog Whistle On a Harpy.'_ ”

 

Ria walked next to her abuelito, the package from the Post Office tucked under one arm. They both loved getting things in the mail – sometimes they ordered stuff they didn't even need, just to make a big production of picking up that little cardboard box from the Post Office. And when the package took so long to arrive they forgot about it, it was like getting a surprise present! 

“So what do you want to do to celebrate?” Ria asked, as they headed down the street. They always did something fun on Post Office Day. A while ago, they'd walked six and a half miles to the mall for a shish kebob from Meat Cube. (It was great exercise, and also wore out their shoes, which meant they got to order one new pair each!) 

“What about going to the park?” her abuelito said. The Gravity Falls Central Park was coming up on their left. “We could race with Lefty if he's out jogging today, or go see how many pieces of gum people have put on the park bench since last time!” 

“Sounds good to me!” 

They headed over. Lefty wasn't there, but there were plenty of other people hanging out. A couple of teenagers were taking dares on who could sit longer on the searing metal slide. Sme little kids playing in the sandbox with little plastic shovels. Valerie, the waitress from Greasy's Diner, was walking around with a tinfoil hat on her head and a satellite dish in her hand. 

“How's the SETI project going, Valerie?” Ria asked her. “Did those Venusians ever get around to using the suntan lotion recipe you sent?” 

She nodded, her left eye twitching rapidly. “Made it. Used it. Turned their skin to pure gold. Created an elite group. Started a civil war.” 

“Ah. So, not good, then.” 

“Very good. We stopped them from coming here and invading us for another one hundred and seventy-five years, at least.” 

Ria's abuelito nodded slowly. “That's nice. I'd hate to be enslaved before I have a chance to get to the boss level of _Tiger Fist vs. Leopard Elbow._ ” 

Suddenly Stanley shot out of the nearest bush. “I LOVE LEOPARD ELBOW!” 

Valerie shrieked and ran away. 

Sooslooked concerned. “Aw, man, I better make sure she doesn't go live with the mole people again. BRB dudes.” He hurried after her. 

Ford popped up next to Stanley and bopped him on the head. “Why'd you do that? I wanted to hear about the Venetians!” 

“Venusians,” Ria corrected. “What are you two doing in a bush? Are you becoming one with the shrubbery?” 

“We're spying on a minion of Stanley's arch enemy.” Ford pointed. 

A woman with short curly hair and dark almond eyes was walking a pack of puppies on the far side of the park. She wore a baby-blue T-shirt with the Tent of Telepathy sign on the front.

“Oh, you mean Sophia! Wait, did you say 'minion'?” 

“Yeah.” Stanley nodded. “Apparently a minion is _not_ a short yellow glow stick in overalls. Who knew, right?” 

Ria stepped back to give the two of them room as they untangled themselves from the shrubbery. They were covered in twigs, leaves, and beetles. “Wow, you two really went all-out with the camouflage,” she commented. 

Ford shook his head. “Nah, we were wrestling before Sophia showed up, so we were already pretty dirty.” 

“Well hey, maybe I can order you guys some actual spy-clothes! I love going to the Post Office to pick up packages.” She held up the one under her arm. “You wanna see what we got this time?” 

“Oh! Oh! A doily kit!” Stanley said. 

Ford smiled a little. “I can't tell if you're being sarcastic or not.” 

Ria laughed. “No, check it out – tada!” She ripped off the brown tape, dug into the styrofoam peanuts and held up her trophy, all slim and silver and gleaming in the sunlight. 

“It's...a whistle,” Stanley said, clearly disappointed. “Aw, wait, no, it's a dog whistle.” 

“Wrong, chiquito! It's a Soos Whistle!” 

“A what?” 

She blew on it, hard. For a second there was nothing but silence. Then two things happened at once: Soos came pounding up to them, huffing and puffing and red in the face – and Stanley was immediately swarmed by a pack of hyperactive puppies. 

“Man down! Man down!” Stanley shouted, as dogs licked him in the face, hands, chin, neck, and generally everywhere, knocking him to the ground.

“That's – that – hah,” Soos gasped, panting. 

“Well, the whistle works,” Ford said, picking up a puppy. It growled and snapped at him and he nearly dropped it. 

“ _I'll_ take that,” said a voice, plucking the dog from Ford's hands. Sophia had popped up beside them like some kind of stealth ninja.

Ford jumped back. “You!” he shouted, and Stanley sat up and glared. 

“Begone, Ria's Evil Twin!” he declared, gallantly raising his fist in the air. The effect was somewhat spoiled when a caterpillar crawled onto his knuckles and waved its stubby little feet. 

“ _Down_ , boys,” Ria scolded the twins. “Sophia, this is Stan and Ford. Stan, Ford, this is Sophia.” 

“We know who she is,” Stanley said. “She's like the Bizzarre-O version of you! The ANTI-RIA!” 

“She should be so lucky,” Sophia said coolly, and turned to Ria. “Good afternoon. Post Office Day?” 

Ria smiled. “How'd you guess?” 

Soos was still trying to catch his breath. “I'm gonna – we're – uh, dude, I need to take a knee,” he panted. “Or maybe the floor.” He sat down on the spot. Instantly the puppies rushed over to cover him in gooey puppy kisses. 

“I didn't know people could hear dog whistles,” Ford said, taking out his notebook and jotting something down. “Don't they operate using a frequency of 23 to 54 kHz? I thought human beings could only hear up to 23 kHZ –”

“NEEEERD,” Stanley said loudly. 

“Actually, my abuelito says he could hear up to 30 kHz,” Ria said. “And since he often gets lost at the mall or in strange places, we decided a dog whistle might help him find his way back home.” 

“Really!?” Stanley squealed. “Gimme gimme, I wanna try!” He grabbed the whistle from Ria and started blowing on it so hard his little puffy cheeks turned red. Soos snapped upright so fast the puppies tumbled down his belly like skiers on a slope. 

“Alright, alright, dude, I can hear it!” Soos yelped. 

Stanley laughed. “Neat! Hey, I wanna see how far away you can hear this thing! Go stand over there by that trash can!” 

“Aw, sweet! This'll be like that commercial with the cell phone guy!” 

Before Ria could protest, her abuelito rolled to his feet and lumbered off for the trash can. She sighed. _Well, I guess we do need to know the range of the whistle, she decided._

Sophia caught the leashes of the puppies before they could follow. “I should be heading back, soon, anyway. We were using the puppies for a photoshoot of Bud Gleeful, but they got restless and needed to go for a walk. Bud should be back from his lunch break any time.” 

“It was nice seeing you,” Ria said, smiling. 

“Yes!” Ford agreed. “It was quite a coincidence running into you in this time and place!” 

“You're phishing, and yes, I could see you hiding in the bushes,” Sophia said. “Not to worry. Maybe next time you will find a hiding place that does not turn your hair into a bird's nest.” She walked off, puppies trailing behind her. 

“OOOOH, BUURRRN!” Stanley said, pausing from blowing the whistle to grin at his brother. “She's right, it totally _does_ look like a bird's nest! You've even got a little egg in it and everything!” 

Ria laughed, because Stan was right, there was an egg in Ford's hair. 

“Like you've never had a nest in yours,” Ford muttered, combing the egg out with his fingers. “Huh. I've never seen an egg like this before...” 

He held it out. It was small, about the size of a robin's egg, and it was a pale cream color like a seashell. It was rather unremarkable but for the veins of brownish-gold shot through the cream, like lines of exquisite lightning. And from the way the lines glinted when Ford held it up, it looked like _solid gold._

Stanley whistled. “Wow. Think a Vulcan laid it?” 

“Venusian,” Ria said. 

Ford was skeptical. “I dunno...pretty sure people would've noticed a UFO crash-landing in the middle of the valley.”

Suddenly a shadow passed over her head and Ria looked up, squinting. There was some kind of bird was circling overhead. 

“Maybe we should put the egg back,” she suggested uneasily. That bird looked awfully big. Maybe some kind of hawk...? 

“Are you kidding?!” Stanley asked. “Think of what we could sell that baby for! Or we could take it home and let it hatch and _then_ sell it! Or we could raise it and make it lay actual solid-gold eggs!”   
“Pretty sure this isn't solid gold,” Ford said. 

Wow, the wingspan on that bird was _massive_. Maybe some kind of condor. Didn't they have a wingspan of, like, nine feet? 

“Uh, dudes...”

“Like you would know,” Stanley said to Ford. “What're ya gonna do, bite it to see if it's fake?” 

“Don't be ridiculous. There are several chemical tests we could run – we'd just have to scrape off a little piece and pour some nitric acid on it.” Ford turned. “Hey, Ria, you think you could order a gold-testing kit? If we got –”

Ria yelled and dove for the ground, pinning the twins underneath her. A sharp gust of wind sliced over her head. 

The 'bird' was no bird at all. It was about the size of a condor, but it had the head of a seriously angry woman, with burning gold eyes and feathers that looked like they were made of solid bronze. It flared its wings, banked, and shot straight back towards them, its wings slicing through a park bench like a hot knife through butter.

“It's a harpy!” Ford shouted. 

“It's a flying death bird!” Ria screamed. 

“GET UP AND RUN!” Stanley bellowed, and he shoved them both to their feet and they ran screaming for the metal slide. The two teenagers who'd been there earlier saw them coming and took off, screaming something about killer pigeons. The three of them dove under the burning metal. 

“Where's my abuelito?!” 

“I don't know!” Stan said. “I think he went across the street or something!”

The bird screeched and dove, its mouth opening to reveal two rows of gleaming red teeth. 

“SLINGSHOT SLINGSHOT SLINGSHOT!” Ford shrieked, and Stanley fumbled for his pockets. 

The bird was closing fast, its long talons extended – 

And then it screwed its eyes shut and flared its wings, as if something had shot it right between the eyes. It wobbled off-course and banged into the slide so hard it left a bumpy dent and soared off towards the opposite end of the park, obviously dazed. 

“I didn't do it!” Stanley said automatically. 

“The light!” Ford exclaimed. “I bet it was the light glinting off the slide that did it!” 

“Wait!” said Ria. “I bet it's attacking because you two messed with its nest, and it saw you with its egg! Quick! Where is it? We need to give it back!” 

“That never works!” Ford said, looking around nervously for the bird. “And anyway I dropped it when you tackled us! I bet we squashed it flat –”

“I GOT IT!” Stanley shouted. He got up and sprinted for all he was worth back towards the bushes. He stopped and reached for something in grass.

The harpy saw him and veered, its eyes glinting, feet outstretched. Stanley yelled, diving to the ground and scooting backwards, barely escaping its talons. The harpy scooped up its egg in its right claw and swept up into the sky, where it flew in a deadly spiral, drawing closer and closer back to Stanley. It was no longer screaming wordlessly. It was doing what sounded like a chant of bloody vengeance.

“JV KXJB FP ZEOVPÍ MQÉOVDX!” it shrieked. “VLR PQLIB JV BDD! MOBMXOB QL AFB!”

“No! STANLEY!” Ria jumped to her feet and ran out from under the slide. The harpy tucked its wings and dive-bombed her, forcing Ria back under cover. The harpy came so close that the tip of one wing sliced through Ria's sleeve. Stanley tried to run back to them, but the harpy shot towards him, and her razor-sharp wings nearly gave him a buzz cut. He yelped and dove for the bushes. 

Ford had been flipping furiously through his journal. “We gotta help Stanley, but there's nothing in here about harpies, zip, zilch, nada, nothing!” 

“You have the egg, leave him alone!” Ria shouted, but the harpy ignored her and circled closer and closer. Stanley's bush was shaking from the gusts from her powerful wingbeats. 

“JV KXJB FP ZEOVPÍ MQÉOVDX! VLR PQLIB JV BDD! MOBMXOB QL AFB!”

“Leave him alone!” Ria shouted again, and she grabbed the whistle and screwed it to the highest possible frequency and blew with all the power in her lungs. 

“I'M COMING, DUDES!” yelled two voices at once. 

A triangle of blinding white metal popped up from behind Stanley's bush, and Soos ran at the harpy from the opposite direction waving a large metal crowbar. 

The harpy, blinded by the shining triangle, squealed with pain and veered off-course. Soos, also blinded by the metal, swung the crowbar, but his aim was good and he connected with its wing just as it was about to slice straight through the bush. The harpy spun crazily and crash-landed, skidding on its face five feet before coming to a stop in the grass. 

Sophia popped up over the bushes, panting, holding up Valerie by her arms. Valerie was still wearing her tinfoil hat and looked completely rigid, but her mouth was set in a thin, stubborn line. Sophia set her down carefully. 

“Well,” Sophia said, “that was exciting.” 

“Exciting?! That was crazy!” Soos exclaimed. “Dudes! Did you see that crazy bird-thing?! That bird came out of nowhere!” 

“Yeah, that's a normal day for us,” Stanley said shakily, crawling out of the bush. Ford immediately ran over to help him up. 

“Sorry I just grabbed you up like that, Valerie,” Sophia said. “I know how you are about taking off your hat, so I didn't want to just rip it off, but the kids were in trouble and I needed something reflective.” 

Valerie straightened her hat. “No worries. It's nice to know my Apocalypse gear is multi-purpose.” She tottered off, shaken but oddly proud. 

Ford took a cautious step towards the grounded harpy. “So, uh...is it...dead?” 

“I dunno, dude,” Soos said solemnly. “Better poke it with a stick, just to be sure.” 

Suddenly a feather twitched and Ford jumped back so fast he stepped on Sophia's foot. The harpy raised her head. It looked around blearily, then caught sight of them. Its gaze sharpened, eyes glinting with malice, and it raised its enormous razor-sharp wings. 

“JV KXJB FP ZEOVPÍ MQÉOVDX!” it screamed. “VLR PQLIB –”

“Oh no you don't,” Ria warned, and she brought the whistle to her lips. 

The harpy yelped and immediately took off in a flurry of feathers, wailing and whimpering, with the egg still clasped in its talons. 

Stanley snickered. “Bet it thought it was gonna get sucker-punched again.”

“Pavlovian conditioning. Nice,” Ford said, nodding appreciatively. “But, I don't understand...there was _nothing_ in the journal about harpies. Literally nothing.” 

Stanley rolled his eyes. “Uh, dude, it's journal three,” Stanley pointed out, tapping the book's cover. “'Harpies' was probably covered in one of the first two journals.” 

“Yeah! And even if it wasn't, now you can make a new entry on harpies yourself!” Ria added. “I bet the author never figured out that dog whistles could be an effective weapon against harpies!” 

Ford looked slightly cheered by this. He turned back to Sophia. “Um, thanks for saving us, by the way.” 

“Yeah,” Stanley said. “You're like, the not-totally-evil twin. How does it go again? 'The enemy of my enemy...is my frenemy!'” He looked rather proud. Before Ford could correct him, Ria held up her hand. 

“Chiquitos, I keep trying to tell you, she is not my evil twin. She is not evil, either. So she is not evil, and also she is not my twin.” She paused for dramatic effect. “She's my cousin.” 

They stared at her. “ _No_ ,” they said together. 

“ _Si_ ,” she replied, looping an arm over Sophia's shoulders. “Why do you think we look so alike in the first place?” 

Ford raised a finger. “Well, statistically speaking, it's said that every person on the planet has at least six other people who look virtually identical to –”

“NEEEEERD,” said Sophia and Stanley at the same time, and Stanley burst out laughing. 

“Oh, I like this one!” Stan said, grinning. “The woman's got _class_.” 

 

Back in the pit, Stanley nodded. “She did have class, too. Gotta say, being the evil twin definitely gives her an air of mystery.” 

Ria snorted, smiling. “I told you, she's _not_ my –”

“ANYWAY,” Stanley said loudly, grabbing the glowing UFO keychain. “Now it's my turn to tell a story. The superest most amazing story of all history, both pre- and pro-!” 

“There's no such thing as prohistory,” Ford said. 

“ _Silence, puny earthling!_ ” Stanley declared. “Prepare your ears for: _'STANLEY PINES WINS AT EVERYTHING!!!'_ ” 

 

Stan and Ford were at a chess tournament where Stanley was in second place Ford was one move away from winning a huge shiny bronze trophy. 

Suddenly a big-knuckled bruiser walked right into the board and the whole thing smashed to the ground. 

“Hey!” Ford yelped. 

The bruiser turned around and shoved his nostrils into Ford's face. “Yeah, I messed up your board! What're you gonna do about it, huh? You gonna fight me? Huh?!” 

“Be careful what you wish for!” Stanley shouted, and he was wearing his boxing gloves and he smashed the guy right in the kisser. They were now in a boxing ring and the whole crowd went OOOOOH! The guy spun real slowly and then went crashing to the ground like a ten-ton elephant. The crowd went wild. 

Carla leaped onto the stage wearing a glittering pink dress with a little blue poodle barrette clipped to her hair. 

“Oh, Stanley, you're my hero!” she shouted, and she clung to his arm and practically swooned. 

“Thanks, beautiful, but I couldn't have done it without my sidekick – Footbot!” 

A robot wheeled onto the stage. It was basically a toaster with a football taped to the top. A robot voice came out of the toaster part. “THANK YOU FOR BUILDING ME, STANLEY.” 

“Here,” Ford said, handing him the huge shiny chess trophy. “You definitely deserve it, Stanley – you're the real hero!” 

Fireworks went off all around them and the three of them posed as the news guys snapped picture after picture of Stanley the Boxing Champion. 

 

They booed. 

“What now?!” Stanley demanded. “That story was great! There was boxing, people cheered, I had a girlfriend, and I won stuff!” 

“'Footbot'?” Ford repeated. “Really? _Footbot?_ ” 

“Yeah, a robot that has a football taped on its head! It's science, Sixer!” 

Ford rolled his eyes. 

“Pass that keychain, Ford,” Mabel said, holding out her hand. “Time for a _real_ story. This one's called... _'Party Animals!'_ ” 

 

Ford and Stan woke up literally covered in glitter, confetti, and little pieces of curled ribbon. The stuff covered their bedroom like multicolored snowdrifts. 

“Um...did Mabel molt?” Stanley asked, sitting up. He spat yellow bits of paper out of his mouth. “Ugh! Or shed? Doesn't she shed glitter?” 

Ford was also sitting up and likewise picking bits of ribbon out of his hair. “The better question is, how did she even do all this while we were sleeping? It's everywhere! There's not even any footprints on the floor –”

“THAT'S BECAUSE I'M STILL HERE!” Mabel shouted, jumping out of the laundry basket. Stan and Ford shrieked and immediately fell out of bed. “Yes! Your falls were cushioned by piles of glittery goodness! YOU'RE WELCOME!” 

“If you start singing that Gisney song I _will_ explode,” Stan deadpanned. 

“Grauntie Mabel, is there a reason you turned our room into the inside of a disco ball?” 

“Ohhhh, it's not just your room, my little nerdling,” Mabel said, grinning hugely. “I did it to the _whole Shack!_ C'MON, CHILD LABOR, WE'RE GONNA PARTY LIKE IT'S 1999!” And she grabbed the two of them, one under each arm, and ran downstairs so fast she banged Stan's head into the doorway. 

“Ow!” 

“SORRY NOT SORRY!” 

She raced down the stairs. She'd drunk four glasses of Mabel Juice last night and stayed up for eighteen hours straight to decorate the Shack. Not only was every room full of birthday-themed decorations, including fistfuls of glitter that were guaranteed to never come out of the carpet, every ceiling had been strung with polka-dotted streamers, every taxidermied animal topped with a rainbow-colored party hat, and balloons of all shapes and sizes were tied to anything that would hold still, including the big pig himself. 

“Wow, Grauntie Mabel, did you rob a Party Store or something?” Ford asked, as she brought them into the den. 

“I can neither confirm nor deny the robbing of any store, Party or otherwise!” She dumped them into the chairs at the den table. The table itself was laden with hundreds of bright pink cards with hand-drawn cakes in metallic marker, along with an equal number of envelopes with little fake stamps drawn on the back of each one. “Alright, kiddies, time's a-wastin'! We're gonna have the biggest, cheapest, loudest party of all time for Waddles the Wonderpig, so one of you writes the invites and the other one sticks 'em in the envelopes and seals 'em up!” 

“You're doing this the day of the party?” Ford asked. 

“Do we even get breakfast before we start?” Stanley asked. “Also Ford has more fingers so he should do all the writing.” 

“Hey!” 

“I'll cook you waffles while you write and top your breakfast with ice cream!” Mabel promised. 

“Ice cream _and_ marshmallows?” 

“One marshmallow for every invite you write!” 

“And chocolate chips?” 

“Don't push your luck, mister. On-delay, on-delay!” 

“It's _andale_ ,” Stanley said, but Mabel had already vanished into the kitchen, singing 'Happy Birthday' at the top of her lungs. 

While Mabel made a ten-tier cake and several batches of her famous marshmallow salad, Stan and Ford were sent out to paint the town pink, shoving birthday invites into the hands of anyone who came into a ten-foot radius. Based on what her grephews said when they came back, everybody had the same response once they read the letters. 

“Yeah...but is there _actually_ gonna be free food this time?” 

Stan and Ford both answered: “Yes.” 

“Without-having-to-pay-for-it kind of free.” 

They answered: “Yes.” 

“Like actual edible food that we can eat?” 

Stan fielded this one. “We can neither confirm nor deny the edibility of the food. But it will be food, it will be free, and please go eat it so we don't have to.” 

Even with that winning closer, a surprising number of people showed up at the Shack. Enough so that Mabel thought the ten-tier cake might actually get eaten. 

“Nice turnout,” Ford said appreciatively, dipping a hand into the marshmallow salad. (The salad was made from gallons of marshmallows, jelly beans, popcorn, and caramel syrup, mixed into a vat big enough to hold Mabel's motorcycle. It was actually Waddles' bathtub, but Mabel had cleaned it. Mostly.) 

The pig himself took his usual place of honor on the porch, and Mabel charged $100 for a photo with the Birthday Pig, which she said would be worth a fortune in fifty years. Two people even actually did it, and Mabel thought that was awesome and she decided to make copies to frame over Waddles' bed as proof that Waddles had real-life fans that were not cardboard cutouts. 

She had to admit, however, that as the day wore on, Waddles was definitely not feeling the celebration-y vibe. He ate, he oinked, he waddled, he did classic Waddles things that were objectively adorable, like putting his ten-pound head in people's laps and oinking for treats. People laughed and fed him cake. But then he'd waddle off and just sit around randomly, just like he did every day. 

“Hmmm,” she said thoughtfully. “Hey, Ford! Stan!” She caught them in mid-air just as they were about to dive into the marshmallow salad. “We're going on an errand!” 

“Whaaat?” Stanley whined. “What for? This is where the food's at!” 

“Yeah, but this party's missing something. Look around...what do you see?” She held them up by the backs of their shirts. (She was unusually strong from lifting Waddles into the bathtub every week.) 

“Ummm...a large number of townspeople actually enjoying their trip to the Shack?” Ford asked. 

“Exactly! Too many people – and not enough _actual party animals!_ ” 

Stanley stroked his chin. “I like where this is going.”

She grinned and lowered them to the ground. “Hop in the side car, my dumplings! We're headin' for the pettin' zoo!” 

She left Manly Dan in charge of the party, stuffed the grephews into her motorcycle, and zoomed down the road. She figured they'd get to Sprotts' Petting Zoo and back before anyone got to the bottom of the cake. 

The zoo was at the other end of Gopher Road. It was part of the Sprotts' rather enormous animal farm, located about 50 yards from the toxic waste facility. It was full of many cute cuddly animals and many more animals with extra limbs for super-cuddliness. 

Mabel hadn't taken the twins to the zoo before, mostly because she'd been banned after trying to create her own unicorn by taping a traffic cone to a horse's head (real unicorns were just so _snotty_ ). But when they got there, she wished she'd done it sooner. Ford took one look at the zoo and practically catapulted himself out of the sidecar, already hollering at the top of his lungs. 

“STANLEY!” he shouted. “Look at that! And that! And that!” He ran up to the fence around the zoo and grabbed the wood so tightly it squeaked. “Stanley! Are you seeing this?! _Tell me you are seeing this!_ ” 

“Seeing, yes,” Stan said. “Believing – nope.” 

Mabel grinned. The zoo had a cute mallard duck, an adorable baby goat, and several fluffy white-wooled sheep...along with a three-winged swan, a two-headed goat, a snake curved permanently into a figure eight that moved by rolling along its length, a clutch of chicks with weird alchemic markings on their backs, a rooster with three eyes, and Mabel's all-time favorite, Octavia, the cow with extra limbs sticking at random out of her back and sides. 

“Ain't she a beaut?” Mabel sighed, beaming at the cow. 

“Mooooo,” said Octavia. The cow sidled up to the fence. Three of its legs stuck over the rail and Ford petted one. Mabel squealed and stroked its soft fuzzy cheeks. 

“Ooooh, aren't you just a big love?” she cooed. 

Emit and D'Shawn came up to the fence. “Y'all here for the pettin' zoo?” Emit drawled, tilting back his big straw hat. 

Mabel grinned and whipped an enormous stack of birthday invitations from her jacket. “We're here to invite you and all of your lovely woodland creatures to the biggest and best pig-themed party of all time!” 

D'Shawn took the invites and grunted. “Mighty perty,” he muttered. 

Emit was inexplicably not enthralled by her awesome invitation. “We ain't movin' a dozen animals so you can stuff 'em with sugar and confetti.” 

“ _Edible_ confetti,” Mabel corrected. 

“Eh.” 

“He's right,” D'Shawn said regretfully. “The animals'd taste mighty funny come eatin' season.” 

Mabel gasped. “ _Eatin' season?!_ ” 

“Ol' Octavia, there,” Emit said, nodding at the cow. “She's gone make us a heck of a lot more burgers'n usual, I reckon.” 

Stanley nodded. “So you wanna eat the cow to gain its mutant powers. I respect that.” 

Mabel, however, was not amused, and for once Ford was in total agreement with her. 

“You can't eat Octavia, she's a sweetheart!” Mabel cried. She grabbed the cow's neck and squished her face right up against it. “ _Look at those big cow eyes!_ ” 

“She's probably the only cow in the world like that!” Ford added, leaning way over the fence. He grabbed a dangling hoof. “Look at this! It's got, like eight or nine legs! It's probably a world record for a cow! You could get in the Guinnea Pig Book of World Records, you could get tons of scientists interested in it – and if it got this way from drinking the toxic waste runoff, you'd probably get sick eating her, anyway!” Ford pointed to the toxic waste facility. Just then a totally normal-looking goat went up and drank from the river of waste pouring from the facility. Instantly the goat grew a second head and tipped over from the unexpected weight. “See?! Do you wanna end up with, like – like –” He stopped, struggling to come up with an anomaly weird enough to justify not eating the cow. 

But the farmers just shrugged and went off to water sheep with toxic river water. 

“You think they're gonna grow, like, rainbow-colored wool or something?” Stanley asked, hanging over the fence to watch. 

Mabel put her hands on her hips. “That would be _super_ cool, but we're not gonna stick around to find out. We're breaking that cow out of here right now!” 

They cheered. 

Mabel quickly rolled her motorbike out of sight into the trees while Stan and Ford figured out how to hotwire Emit's truck. (This was not a crime. They were _borrowing_ it. Mabel even left them a little pink heart-shaped IOU.) Then Stanley called the farm using Mabel's cell phone, pretending to be an auditor and asking for their two-headed animal permit. With the farmers distracted, Ford and Mabel loaded Octavia into the truck. She lowed and butted Mabel's head affectionately. 

“We can't take her back to the Shack,” Ford said. “The farmers know where we live. They'd find her for sure!” 

“Don't worry, mini-Spock, we will release her into the wild!” Mabel slammed the bed of the truck shut. 

The sound attracted the farmer's attention. 

“HEY!” Emit shouted. 

“Move, move move!” Mabel jumped into the truck and hit the gas. Ford grabbed hold of the truck and jumped into the bed with Octavia. Mabel swung around to pick up Stanley, barely slowing down enough for him to grab the door handle and scramble inside. 

Unfortunately, that gave the farmers enough time to call their kid. Sprott Jr (there was no Sprott Sr) suddenly leaped into Mabel's path, blocking the only gate in or out of the zoo. Mabel yelled and turned the wheel, hard, wincing as the twins hit the side of the truck. 

“HANG ON!” she shouted, and shot straight towards the sheep pen. She was sure she'd seen it – where _was_ it!? – 

“THERE THERE THERE!” Stanley shouted. There was a ramp at the side of the sheep pen just wide enough for the truck. Perfect! 

She spun the wheel again and headed straight up the ramp. All three of them yelled as the truck shot into the air. There were three full seconds of heart-pounding non-stop screaming as the truck flew, and then it hit the ground with a jolt and Mabel stepped on the gas. The car zoomed into the forest. 

Ford's head popped up in the window at the back of the truck. “Well that was fun,” he said. The three of them looked at each other and then burst out laughing. 

After a minute or so of driving, they found a nice clearing in the woods and let Octavia out of the truck. 

“You sure this is a good idea?” Stanley asked. “We could just, y'know, eat the cow ourselves and _pretend_ that she's still out here.” 

Mabel and Ford ignored him. 

“Goodbye, Octavia,” Mabel said, leading the cow gently off of the truck. “You're a wonderful freak of nature and we'll miss you very much.” She gave it a big kiss on the nose, and then lightly tapped its butt to keep it walking. 

The three of them waved and called goodbyes as the cow wandered off, nosing at the grass. 

“It'd be even cooler if she had superpowers,” Stanley said. 

A hawk flew by overhead. Octavia looked up, shot death rays from her eyes, and when the burned carcass fell, she opened her mouth and a ten-foot tongue shot out and began slowly dragging the dead bird into her jaws. 

They stared. 

“I changed my mind,” Stanley said. “Run.” 

They ran back to the truck, dragging Ford, who wanted to stay and take samples (of what, they did not want to know). Mabel sped off just as another jet of pale green light sizzled into the tree next to the truck. 

 

“And that's how we accidentally freed a bovine super villain,” Mabel finished. “We got back to the Shack just in time to sing Waddles 'Happy Birthday', and then I felt so bad he didn't have any animal companions that I took a bunch of stuffed animals and knitted them together in a massive conglomeration of plushie goodness!” 

Stanley shuddered. _That_ was one taxidermic monstrosity even he found creepy. Luckily he thought he'd finally found the perfect way to get rid of it once and for all...

Ford, however, looked puzzled. “Hey, none of this explains why Stanley had that giant crate from earlier.” 

“WHAT CRATE?” Stan asked too loudly. “WHY ARE YOU ASKING ABOUT A CRATE? THERE IS NO CRATE! THERE IS NOTHING PLUSHIE AND DISTURBING IN THE CRATE! WHAT'S A CRATE?!” 

Ford pointed. The locked-up crate was floating right next to them, along with Ria's shoes. 

“Yay, my shoes!” Ria said, and plucked them out of the air and put them on. 

“I don't see those love letters from Gideon, though,” Ford said, looking around. 

Mabel quickly shushed him. “You have no idea how creepy those are, and they can sense fear a mile away! I do _not_ want those coming back.” 

“Uh, everyone, speaking of which...” Ria pointed down. 

A small circle of bright white light was steadily growing larger beneath them. First it was the size of the head of a pin, then a dinner plate, then Waddles. 

“What is that?!” Ford asked. 

“Wait, wait, where are we going?!” Stanley yelped. 

“Not good.” Mabel grabbed the twins. “Brace yourselves!” 

They screamed as the bright light grew huge and swallowed them up – 

And then immediately spat them onto solid ground. 

They sat up, slowly. They were back on the lawn of the Mystery Shack. It was still daylight. In fact, Stanley noticed, squinting at the sun, it looked like it was the exact time they'd left in the first place. 

“Are we...in another universe?” Ford asked hesitantly. 

Stanley grabbed a blade of grass and ate it. “Nope. Grass tastes the same.” 

“How would you know – never mind.” 

“We must've come right back out the top,” Mabel said wonderingly. She stood up and they looked over at the Bottomless Pit, keeping a careful distance this time. 

“Sooo...does that mean it has a bottom, or not?” Stanley wondered aloud. “Is the top...also the bottom?” 

“That's deep,” Ria said.

“It must be some kind of wormhole,” Ford decided. 

Ria nodded. “Certainly. That sounds science-y enough to be true.” 

“But that's impossible!” Stanley said. “No one will believe us!” 

“ _I_ barely believe it,” Mabel said, leaning on the Bottomless Pit sign. “Maybe this is one story we ought to keep to ourselves.” 

“Agreed,” said the rest of them. 

Suddenly the sign broke and Mabel plummeted into the hole. Her scream immediately turned into a whoop of delight: 

“I'm FLYYIIIIIINNG!” 

Stan stared down after her. “Huh. You guys wanna raid the fridge and own the TV remote before she gets back?” 

“Yep!” 

“Sounds good to me!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you add a short to an episode made of shorts, is the short a short or is it an episode that's just not as short as usual? 
> 
> Find out next week on: The Life of a Closet Fangirl!
> 
> Also writing Stanley's story was my FAVORITE. What do you guys think about the Macarena Owls and the Waddles/Octavia shorts? I had some fun tweaking those. The Harpy one I came up with on my own. What do you guys think? I ended up incorporating a lot more characters than I thought, but it was fun. Also, for those of who who decode the harpy's screeching, tada! Two allusions in one!


	8. Bottomless Pit Short

“Hmmm...” 

Ford tapped his chin with his pen, walking in a slow circle around the giant tooth. He wasn't sure what had made it, but he could guess why it fell out: there was a giant hole near the top, indicative of a massive cavity. But what creature could grow a tooth this size? Its four-pointed top strongly resembled a human molar. Could the creature from which it originated be omnivorous, like people? Or, perhaps, did he have it backwards – was the tooth really upside down, and the four points of the tooth normally jutted up from the creature's gums, indicating some kind of carnivorous species? 

And what could possibly make such a large cavity in a tooth that size? 

_Well,_ Ford thought, _only one way to find out!_

He stuffed his notebook back into his jeans pocket, made sure the journal was secure inside his jacket, and tried to scale the sides. Unfortunately, the sides of the tooth were so smooth that Ford was having trouble getting a grip. Not to mention the fact that the tooth was at least three times his height, and the hole in the tooth was at the very top.  
“Ugh,” he grunted, slipping back down. “Help me out here, Stan –”

Ah. Right. Stan had basically kidnapped Fiddleford to teach him how to count cards for the poker game tonight. 

Ford walked around until he found a decent-sized rock that looked round enough to roll, and shoved it inch by inch over to the tooth. He was sweating heavily by the time he finished. He tied his jacket around his waist. Then, using the rock as a step stool, he finally managed to reach the hole in the tooth and hoist himself up. 

He knelt on the edge of the tooth and peered down into the hole. But he couldn't see inside. Even with all the bright sunshine, the whole was pitch-black. He couldn't see the bottom. Even stranger, he felt a cold draft emanating from the opening. He wondered if a living creature had tried to make a home in the tooth – some kind of parasite, perhaps – and if it was still living inside. He leaned forward, reaching for his light-up UFO keychain. Then his sweaty palm slipped and he fell face-first down the hole.

He yelled and braced himself, but he fell and just kept falling. Whatever made the cavity had apparently bored straight into the ground and continued to dig. Ford hit the ground and tumbled down the long dark tunnel, trying and failing to slow his fall as rocks and roots dug into his back and face. 

Finally he landed in clumsy heap on the cold ground, banging his chin and elbow. His head and shoulder throbbed and his knees stung. He must've hit his head so hard he had a concussion – blackness pressed in on his eyes...then he realized that it was simply too dark to see. He sat up slowly, fished around in his jacket pocket for the keychain, and clicked on the light. 

The tunnel had dumped him in a long, narrow cave, the ceiling so high it was hidden in shadow. The sides of the cave were oddly shaped, carved into crude vertical ridges. Ford stood up and kicked something with his feet. He picked it up. It was an ax, a hundred years or older by the look of it, made of wood and stone with strange glyphs carved on the blade. He lifted the keychain higher. More weapons and pieces of carved stone littered the ground. Had he discovered the remnants of a cache of Native American treasures? Not exactly earth-shattering, but still pretty cool. 

He checked himself over, but he wasn't that badly hurt. Even better, the tunnel he'd fallen through was shallow enough for him to crawl back up, so it looked like he didn't have to worry about finding a way out. He decided to do a little exploring. 

Some of the walls were honeycombed with other tunnels, dug into the sides of the walls several feet above the floor, like it was the home of some kind of giant bug. One of the tunnels, however, looked man-made – or at least large enough and tall enough to be designed for something people-shaped. He made a mental note of its location. Maybe it was anther way in and out of the cave. 

He'd been walking for a few minutes when the cave suddenly ended in a curtain of cobwebs. He pulled them aside and gasped. 

A huge mural covered the smooth stone wall in front of him. It had been painted in black and ochre-red on a background of yellow minerals. The yellow was so deep and rich it seemed to give off a light of its own. Small black figures, which were clearly people, genuflected to the design at the center of the mural: a glowing triangular being with two stick-like arms, some kind of perpendicular decoration at its apex, and a huge eye in the middle of the shape, which seemed to burn as brightly as the sun. 

“Wow,” Ford breathed. What could this mean? Was this proof of extraterrestrial involvement of life on earth? Was it a being that still lived in the surrounding forest? Why was it shaped like a triangle? Or was this all from some kind of secret, hidden cult, that might've perpetuated itself from ancient times right up to the modern day? 

Eager for answers, Ford stepped forward, sweeping his keychain from side to side. Instantly the unpainted rock around the mural lit up with bright blue writing, which shimmered and faded quickly as he swung the light away. Incredible! The painting had to be hundreds, maybe thousands of years old, but the luminescent properties of the paint were perfectly preserved! 

Suddenly Ford peered more closely at the writing. The symbols were strangely familiar...they almost looked like...

He whipped out his journal. 

“Yes, yes, _yes!_ ” Ford whispered, staring back and forth between the page and the rock. “This is the _exact same code_ I found in the Crystal Glade!” 

He quickly copied the rock writing before the glow could fade. Then he sat down, scooting as close as he could to the mural, and placed the keychain on a rock beside him. 

He'd been working so closely with the alien-looking code that he could use the Atbash and Caeser ciphers on it in his head to practice decoding it. Not that he thought it would be that easy – the code from the Crystals was apparently in written with a Vigenere cipher, and he didn't expect this to be any easier to crack. 

To his amazement, however, it didn't use any codes at all – and it was written in plain English, even though the writing looked as ancient as the rest of the mural! It was almost...almost as if the writing had been waiting there, specifically for _him_. 

He skimmed through the first part and came to what had to be some kind of chant referring to the being at the center of the mural. Was it some kind of summoning spell? Would it give him superpowers? Would he turn bright yellow and be initiated into a society of isosceles beings from another planet?? He had to know what would happen! 

He eagerly read the inscription aloud: “When gravity falls...and earth becomes sky...fear the beast with just one eye!” He waited, holding his breath. 

Nothing happened. 

He waited a little longer, and then a little longer after that. But the cave looked exactly the same as normal. 

Ford's face fell. Here he thought he'd found something special, something _amazing,_ and all he got was an old doodle and a chant that did absolutely nothing. What was the point of all that Crystal Code stuff if it was just written in plain English anyway?

The mural flickered slightly and Ford jumped, thinking for a split second that the yellow pigment was coming alive, burning before his eyes...but it was just his keychain started to blink out. The battery was dying. And, now that he'd noticed it, the air was going a bit stale. 

Ford thought about taking the tunnel he'd spotted a ways back, to try and find another way out of the cave. But he didn't have any idea where it would lead, and he was too disappointed just then to get into another adventure. He stuffed the keychain back in his pocket, keeping it on for the dim light it would provide, and started crawling carefully back up the tunnel to the surface. 

 

Ford was restless and irritable the rest of the day. Even Grauntie Mabel noticed it. Unfortunately, her way of treating the “Grumpy Grumps” was by stuffing him with Mystery Smoothies and playing very loud disco music in the living room for an impromptu dance party. Ford fed his smoothie to Waddles (he'd had enough disappointing mysteries for one day.) When Mabel danced so hard she thought she might have to throw up her smoothie, he escaped upstairs while she was in the bathroom. Then he pretended to be asleep when she came to check on him. 

He waited until she left, then clicked on his UFO light and started reading _The Sibling Brothers_. But he couldn't stop thinking about the mural. It had just looked so cool and mysterious, hidden at the end of a long, dark tunnel. It practically _had_ to have some kind of mystery to it. And the triangle shape had just seemed so familiar. He still couldn't believe nothing had happened when he'd read the incantation. 

He settled back on the bed and propped the book up on his knees so he wouldn't have to hold it. Climbing the tunnel had made his arms tired. He wished Stanley would get home soon...maybe it would help to have Stanley sit there while Ford talked about the mural, tried to work out why it was there, what it was for. His chin dropped onto his chest. Maybe he should just rest his eyes for a minute...

 

_Ford opened his eyes._  
_He found himself floating in a galaxy of stars. No, not a galaxy. It was a huge open space with a deep blue sky all around him, but instead of stars, research papers and notes he'd written were scattered everywhere. He moved forward, walking on an invisible surface._

I must be dreaming, _he realized. He plucked a book by Darwin out of the air and opened it, amazed to see every single word of the book reprinted in perfect clarity. He knew how to do lucid dreaming – in fact he did it nearly almost every night so he could think while he slept – but he'd never done it with such remarkable detail. And he could read the words! He thought it was impossible to read while you were sleeping. Was his brain somehow rewiring itself to –_

_“HIYA, SMART GUY!”_

_Ford nearly shrieked and jumped backwards. A small yellow triangle zoomed through the air. It circled him, laughing._

_“WHOA, DON'T HAVE A HEART ATTACK, YOU'RE NOT 92 YET!”_

_Ford gasped. “Who're you?”_

_The triangle paused in front of him. It had one eye in its center with a pupil like a cat's, a bow tie just underneath the eye, a top hat on its apex, and tiny black arms and legs. It had no mouth to speak of, but when it talked, its whole body pulsed with a clear yellow light._

_The triangle tipped its hat. “NAME'S BILL! AND YOUR NAME'S STANFORD PINES, THE MAN WHO CHANGED THE WORLD! BUT I'M GETTING AHEAD OF OURSELVES. LET'S RELAX!”_

_Before Ford could speak, Bill snapped his fingers. A chessboard and two chairs appeared in the air. Bill hovered over one chair and the other pushed itself up under Ford, bumping his legs so he sat down automatically._

_Ford looked around. “But what's –”_

_“HAVE A CHERRY SODA!”_

_The soda popped into Ford's hand, at exactly the perfect temperature. He took a sip and smiled – he could even taste it in his dream!_

_“How did you know...” he started, looking up. Bill had chosen white and had already made the first move on the chessboard. Ford gave a yelp of indignation. “How come you get to go first?”_

_“YOU KIDDING? I NEED EVERY ADVANTAGE I CAN GET AGAINST A BRAIN LIKE YOURS!” Bill gestured to the board. “YOU IN OR OUT?”_

_“In.” Ford leaned forward and moved a knight. The game began._

_They were six turns in when something began nagging at the back of Ford's mind. He moved a bishop, frowning. Something about Bill...and the journal..._

_Ford stood up so suddenly the board went flying. “YOU!” he shouted, pointing at Bill. “I know you! You were in the mural! And you're the guy who tricked the author!”_

_Bill rolled his eye. “LET ME GUESS. HE CALLED ME A MUSE AND THEN A MONSTER, AM I RIGHT?”_

_A page of the journal floated by, bearing those exact words._

_“Uh,_ duh! _” Ford snapped. “You acted like a nice guy and then you tricked him!”_

 _“BY DOING WHAT, EXACTLY?”_

_Ford hesitated. “Well...” There hadn't actually been much about that part in the journal. Actually, there hadn't been anything about that._

_Bill didn't have much of a face, but he seemed to sneer at Ford. “FORGET IT. I THOUGHT YOU WERE SMARTER THAN THAT, BUT I GUESS YOU'LL BELIEVE WHATEVER PEOPLE SAY – EVEN WHEN THEY'RE BEING INSULTED BY LESSER FOOLS.”_

_A shred of memory floated by, like a window into the past. Ford stood in front of his class, trying to give a presentation on a shrunken head. His classmates immediately began throwing footballs at him and calling him names._

_Ford glanced at the memory, his mouth tightening. When he looked back, Bill had disappeared. “Hey, wait!”_

_“FREAK!”_

_Ford jumped and spun around. The kids in the memory were now looking straight out at him. “YOU SIX-FINGERED FREAK!” they shouted, trying to claw their way out. “YOU'RE NOTHING! YOU'RE NOBODY!”_

_Ford backed up into the chessboard. A flash of motion made him turn. The pieces were mutating. The top parts of each piece turned into his father's head._

_“Get your nose outta that book,” his father growled in multiple. “I don't care how many times you get pounded. You punch back. I ain't raisin' no wuss for a son.”_

_“I – I'm not a –”_

_Ford stumbled away, but there were voices all around him now, huge faces leering down at him, calling him names, screaming –_

“Alright there, Sixer, that's it, come on...” 

Ford started so badly he nearly fell out of bed. Stanley caught him and hauled him back onto his mattress. 

“What'sa matter, Sixer?” Stanley asked. “Too much grape and cheese chili before bed?” 

“N-no, I –”

“Hang on a sec.” 

Ford blinked several times as Stanley moved away. Everything was blurry. He patted around, looking for his glasses. When he finally found them and put them on, Stanley had returned with a towel. 

“Here. Pretty sure it's clean. Wipe your face, huh?” 

Ford wasn't thinking about it, he just obeyed. The towel came away wet. 

“I wasn't crying.” 

“Sure,” Stan agreed. “That was just a heckuvalot of drool. Want me to make some Stancakes?” 

“You can _cook?_ ” 

Stanley shrugged. “Mabel can't, and _somebody's_ gotta make something edible around here or we'll all starve to death. I had Ria show me how yesterday. You in or not?” 

The words echoed in his head. 

_YOU IN OR OUT?_

“Uh, yeah,” he said, climbing out of bed. He was still a little shaky, but he felt better now that the taunts were fading from his mind. Was that what it had been like for Bill? “Yeah,” he said again. “I'm in, I think.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS IT'S HAPPENING!!!!!


	9. The Deep End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS THIS EPISODE IS DEEEEP  
> (Oh come on you all saw that coming.)
> 
> Just a heads-up, I diverge a bit from canon in the middle. And most of the end. But it STILL rocks out loud and there's lots of Fiddleford and some Stangst and I hope you like it :)

Sometimes, back in New Jersey, people said it was hot enough to fry an egg on the sidewalk. Ford had tried it once. The egg hadn't cooked all the way through (but Stanley had eaten it anyway). 

In Gravity Falls, however, it was hot enough for squirrels to spontaneously combust. _Literally._

He, Stanley, Fiddleford, and Grauntie Mabel were lying in the living room, each of them wearing as little clothing as possible and trying not to suffer the same fate as said squirrel. 

The TV was on because no one wanted to create extra heat by picking up their finger and hitting the remote. 

“Watch out, Gravity Falls,” said Thompson, on a new segment of the news entitled _Publicity-Desperate Corner_. “Because at 110 degrees, we're looking at the hottest day of the summer!” 

“Hottest day of _ever_ ,” Stanley groaned. 

Ford believed it. Wax Mabel was melting, the fish tank was boiling, and paint was literally peeling off the walls. (On the bright side, at least they'd be having lobster for dinner tonight.) 

He fanned himself uselessly with one of Mabel's romance books. “All in favor of doing nothing all day, say _uugghhrraaahh._ ” 

“ _Uugghhrraaahh,_ ” they groaned in agreement. 

“I thought you guys had air conditioning,” Fiddleford panted. 

“I will literally pay you your weight in gold to install air conditioning,” Mabel said, a bucket of ice cream resting on her stomach. 

“I want to...but it's too _hoooot._ ” 

Gompers came over and started licking Fiddleford's nose, probably thinking it was an Otter Pop. 

Thompson's voice came on again. “On the bright side, pun very much intended, it's opening week at the Gravity Falls pool!” 

Ford, Fiddleford, and Stan all reacted instantly.

“Pool?” 

“Today?” 

“Pun intended?!” 

“Quick!” Mabel shouted. “To the car!” 

She struggled to get up. Unfortunately, she'd stripped down to a T-shirt and shorts, and her sweaty limbs were now glued to the wood floor of the den. “Ugh. Kids, a little help?” 

Stan and Ford whipped out their spatulas, stuck them under her back and strained to pry her loose. There was a loud _crack_ and Mabel sat up, grinning. “Excellent! Let's go cool off before I am literally toast!” 

She walked off, the floorboards still stuck to her back. 

“And remember to be on alert for random wildfires!” said Thompson. 

Suddenly there was the sound of a fire igniting and Mabel screamed so shrilly that Waddles raced into the room and tried to hide behind the yellow armchair. 

Stanley shrugged. “Eh, she'll be fine.” 

 

Stan insisted they stop to pick up Carla on the way to the pool. She brought along her little brother, Mikey or Mason or Moo-Moo or something. Stanley thought he was annoying, but Carla was smiled at him when Moo-Moo took Stan's hand so maybe the kid wasn't all that bad. 

They took the bus to the pool in their swimsuits. When they got there, Mabel paid the entrance fees and they headed in. “Ahh, the pool,” she sighed. “A sparkling oasis of summer enchantment!” 

“Do I have enough sunscreen on?” Fiddleford asked, somewhat anxious. The dude had slathered on so much lotion he looked like a skinny summer snowman. 

“I dunno, dude, you might need to put on some more,” Stanley deadpanned. Ford elbowed him and they snickered. 

Moo-Moo grabbed his hand. “Hey, Stanny, can we get into the pool? Canwecanwecanwe?” 

“I wanna do a cannonball,” Carla said eagerly, grabbing Stanley's other hand. “Stanley, you wanna take turns watching Marco and doing cannonballs?” 

“Who's Marco?” 

She stared at him. “Stanley...” 

“Oh! Right. I thought you called him Moo-Moo.” 

Moo-Moo giggled. “Mooooo,” he said. 

Carla laughed. “Come on, you dorks, let's get in the water already!” 

They ran for the pool. 

Halfway there a sound caught Stanley's ears. Somebody was singing. It was so pretty and nice that for a second he thought he was already in the pool. It was like listening to the waves, all cool and perfect as he floated in the water...

_Snap, snap._

Stanley blinked. Apparently he'd frozen mid-step. Moo-Moo was a little ways ahead of him, but Carla had gone back to snap her fingers in his face. 

“Yo, earth to Stanley,” she said. “You're not getting heatstroke, are you?” She looked a little worried. 

“Uh, no, no, I'm good.” 

“Great! C'mon then, boyfriend, let's see who makes the biggest splash!” 

_Boyfriend._

They reached the pool and Stanley jumped in without waiting. His cheeks felt so hot, even underwater, he wondered if he really _was_ getting sunstroke after all. 

 

“Ahh, young love,” Mabel said with a sigh, watching them go. 

Ford rolled his eyes. “Eh, Stanley's all talk. Wanna know a secret? He's never even kissed a girl.” 

“Who cares?” She grinned. “And speaking of _loooove_...” She pointed, and Ford looked up. 

Seandra was sitting in the lifeguard chair, wearing a navy blue one-piece swimsuit with a matching navy tie in her hair. She looked slender and beautiful and Ford was pretty sure his brain had just short-circuited. 

She looked up and noticed them. “Oh hey, guys! What's up, Ms. Pines?” 

“You the life guard today?” Mabel asked. 

“Sure am! Today I make the _rules_ , suckas!” She grabbed a water balloon from the bucket sitting next to her and chucked it at Mabel. Mabel dodged it and stuck out her tongue. Seandra laughed and threw a few more, and when she finally beaned Mabel the older woman squealed and ran off giggling. 

“Wow, so...you work here?” Ford asked.

“For now, anyway,” Seandra said, nodding. “This is like, _the_ best place to get the scoop on pool bizz. You can literally spy on everybody in plain sight, and get paid to do it!” 

“Yeah, you do! AHAHAHA...please stop me,” he whispered to Fiddleford. 

“You guys wanna have a water balloon fight?” Fiddleford asked. 

“Love to, but I gotta spend the day doing tryouts,” Seandra said. She gestured to the empty seat next to her. “We're looking for a new assistant lifeguard.”

“Hey!” Ford squeaked. He cleared his throat. “Hey...what if I the assistant lifeguard?” 

Seandra smiled. She had the prettiest smile. “That would be totally awesome! You're totally in!” She grabbed the nearest floatation device and tossed it to him. Fiddleford nudged him and grinned like, _Score!_ “You just gotta clear it with Mr. Poolcheck,” Seandra added, jabbing her thumb over her shoulder. 

Ford and Fidds looked. 

A man was standing at the side of the pool, deeply tanned with thinning sun-bleached hair and a rugged shovel-shaped jaw. He had white shorts, a red T-shirt, a whistle around his neck, and so many muscles he looked like Arnold Schwarzenegger. Even as they watched, the guy threw down his clipboard, sucked in a deep breath, then hit the ground and started doing push-ups, first on his hands, then on his pinkies. 

Suddenly he looked up and straight at Ford, his eyes bugged out and his pupils like twin lasers. Ford jumped. 

“ _That's_ Mr. Poolcheck?” Fiddleford asked, slightly unnerved. “He looks kinda...” 

“Yeah.” Seandra shrugged and cupped a hand over her mouth. “I'd actually love to do a news piece on how he runs the pool. Dude treats it like a high-security military base. So,” she said brightly. “Wanna join me investigating the most high-strung bodybuilder lifeguard in Gravity Falls history?” 

Ford looked at Poolcheck, who was currently shoving sunglasses onto Creepy-Dude-Who-Married-A-Woodpecker, with an extra-small pair for the woodpecker. Then he looked at Seandra, who was already taking notes on Poolcheck in a notebook, looking every inch the intelligent and dedicated future journalist she was. 

He nodded. “Let's do this!”

 

Carla did a beautiful swan dive off the highest diving board. Stanley, sitting in the shallow end with Moo-Moo, raised his arms and cheered (a difficult feat, as Moo-Moo was currently sitting on Stan's shoulders.) 

“WOOHOO! TEN OUT OF TEN FOR CARLA MCCORKLE!” he shouted. 

“I'm boooored,” Moo-Moo complained. “I wanna go on the diving board.” 

“Too bad, kid!” Stan said. Moo-Moo went ominously quiet. “Kid, if you poop on my shoulders I will eat every last popsicle in the snack bar so you won't get any.” 

Moo-Moo considered this. “If you _buy_ me every popsicle in the snack bar, I'll pretend that I like you so Carla will like you more.” 

“Deal!” 

Carla swam up to them, her hair floating like soft clouds in the water. She bounced to her feet and spurted water in Stan's face. 

“Eww!” he laughed, pushing her back under the water. She bobbed up again, giggling. 

“Ok, Stan, your turn! You go do a dive. Do it like a _beautiful_ swan!” she said, exaggerating the sweep of her arms. 

“Haha, like I could ever be as good as you,” Stanley said, grinning, flirting, and for once being totally honest. Moo-Moo jabbed him in the cheek with his knee. “Ow! Hey, I got an idea. How's about we buy the kid a popsicle?” 

“Aww, Stanley, you are _too_ sweet,” she cooed, lightly pinching his ear. “Yeah, sure, why not?” 

They climbed out of the pool and headed to the bar.

 

 

 

“Uh...Stanley? You coming?” 

“Huh?” 

Stanley blinked and looked down. He had not only stopped walking with Carla and Moo-Moo, he was standing at the edge of the pool, one foot planted like he was about to jump in. He'd totally blanked out. He hurried to catch up. 

“We can get right back in the pool, you know,” Carla said. “I mean, the sign says to wait thirty minutes, but we just gotta be careful Poolcheck doesn't catch us.” 

Sneaky rule-breaking with a hot girl? “Sounds perfect!” Stanley said eagerly. 

Still...

He looked back at the pool, frowning slightly. He spotted one girl over in the corner by the pool filter. Her hair was so blond it was practically flaxen, and she was leaning her upper body on one of those floaty things people lay on to let them swim and sunbathe at the same time. Her eyes were closed, but Stanley could've sworn she'd just been watching him. 

He grunted and reached for Carla's hand. He already had a girlfriend, thank you very much, and she was so cool she wanted to break rules with him. If that wasn't true love, he didn't know what was!

 

“And that is why I'd make a good lifeguard assistant,” Ford finished proudly, hands clasped behind his back, Spock-style. 

Mr. Poolcheck finished hammering up a “Do Not Touch” sign on the shed for pool equipment. He turned, knelt, and shoved his lotion-covered nose three centimeters from Ford's face. 

“Hmm...” His voice was all deep and hoarse like a drill sergeant's. He sniffed at Ford. “SPF 100. Good...I like you.” He stood back, his jaw set. “But this isn't an easy job, kid. It's anarchy out there.” He pointed to the pool, looking at it darkly as if he could see every unimaginable horror the pool could unleash on its unsuspecting victims. 

Ford looked and saw a bunch of people floating in little rubber duck doughnuts. One of them was an old grandma reading a Pool Jokes book and chuckling to herself. 

“I think I can handle it,” Ford said. 

“Can you handle THIS?!” 

“Gah!” 

Ford jumped back. Poolcheck had literally ripped off his right hand and shoved it in Ford's face. It took Ford a second to realize it was just a prosthetic. 

“I lost my HAND to a pool filter!” Poolcheck jammed the hand back on, the muscles in his arms bulging with tension. “The pool may seem friendly...but she can turn on you in an instant! Which is why you must _RESPECT HER RULES!_ ” He grabbed Ford's arms. “Do you think you have what it takes boy? _DO YOU?!_ ” 

Ford glanced over Poolchecks shoulder. Seandra was still sitting in the lifeguard chair. She smiled and waved her notebook at him. 

_Prosthetic hand!_ she mouthed, pointing to her notes and giving him a thumbs-up. He'd already given her material for her column! And she was smiling! At _him!_

“Sure,” Ford said to Poolcheck. “I mean, definitely.” 

Poolcheck stood back and lifted up a brand-new life guard whistle on a cheap black string. He placed it over Ford's head as if he was knighting him. 

“Welcome to the deep end, son,” he said gruffly. 

Ford grinned. “Well, thanks, I –”

Poolcheck crushed him in a hug. 

“Ow!” Ford struggled to get loose, but Poolcheck was so ripped he didn't seem to notice. “Ugh, yep, this is happening.” 

 

“There she is, Fiddleford,” Mabel said, beaming as she walked up to the chair in the corner. Fiddleford had gone to hang out with Mabel, and they'd been walking around searching for the 'Legendary Lawn Chair'. 

“It definitely looks...chair-ish,” Fiddleford said. 

“No-no-no, my compadre, this is no ordinary chair.” She gestured grandly. “Equidistant from the Snack Bar and the bathroom...with just the right amount of sun and shade...and pointed away from where Crazy Chu lotions herself.” 

Chu was standing across the pool, cackling as she contorted into rather disturbing positions to lotion every part of her legs and back. Fiddleford quickly looked away. 

“Ah, yep, that's definitely a plus,” he agreed. 

She grinned and threw a towel marked _Property of Mabel_ over the back of the chair. “I just can't believe it wasn't already taken! And now to sit on it, thereby claiming it as my own.” 

She made a big production of turning around, pointing her but up in the air. She sat down and started to lean back – 

And then was stopped short by a foot planted firmly on her back.

Fiddleford jumped. Suddenly there was a very pale, very chubby, very white-haired little boy sitting in a chair, rubbing lotion into his cheeks.

“WHAAAAAT!” Mabel whipped around. 

“Oh, hello, Mabel,” said the boy pleasantly. He had a southern accent even thicker than Fiddleford's. 

“GLEEFUL!” Mabel screamed. Fiddleford jumped. “GET OUTTA MY CHAIR, KID!!” 

“Oh, was this your chair? Ah had no idea,” the boy said. Then he narrowed his gaze and whispered, “Yes Ah did, Mabel Pines. _Ah knew._ ” And he squirmed his way a little deeper into the seat. 

Fiddleford pressed his mouth into a thin line. His ma and pa had raised him right, but this boy's parents obviously hadn't. 

“She really was going to sit in the chair,” Fiddleford said, stepping around Mabel. He held out his hand. “I'm Fiddleford. And you are?” 

“Bud Gleeful, Child Psychic,” Bud said, extending his hand and shaking it. “Might not want to wash that hand for a while,” Bud said, when he let go. “Most people pay five dollars apiece for me to do that for them.” 

Fiddleford stared at him, speechless. 

“Move it, you little troll!” Mabel barked. 

“Now Ah do believe it is first come, first serve,” Gleeful said pleasantly. “But don't worry, Mabel – Ah'm sure there are plenty of chairs left over theah!” 

He pointed. There were indeed several more chairs – shoved into the corner next to the snack bar, right next to the dumpster. A crow landed on the back of a chair, took one whiff of the rotting produce, and promptly keeled over in a dead faint. 

“I'll first serve _YOU!_ ” Mabel screeched, and she stormed away, muttering furiously under her breath. Fiddleford glanced at Bud, who was watching them coolly, then hurried after Mabel. 

“Uh, Ms. Pines?” he said timidly. “Probably not a good idea to get so worked up on a hot day...” 

Mabel grabbed an iced tea that someone had abandoned and dumped it on her head. “ _There!_ Now where are those water balloons?!” 

“Are you going to throw them at that kid?” 

“Right after I fill them with soda! SEANDRA!” Mabel shouted up. Seandra looked up from her notes. 

“Whoa. You need some more suntan lotion, Ms. Pines?” 

“Yes please thank you and I also need all of your water balloons!” 

“Um...can I ask why?” 

“I'm going to wreak unmentionable havoc upon an evil child bent on ruining my perfect day at the pool!” 

About ten seconds later, Fiddleford stood outside the chain link fence as Seandra locked Mabel in pool jail. 

“But I didn't do anything!” Mabel protested. 

Seandra shrugged. “Sorry, Mabel, but you really need to calm down. I'll come back and let you out if I don't forget.” 

“Forget?!” Fiddleford yelped. 

Just then Ford ran up to them. “Hey, Seandra! I got the job!” He held up a lifeguard whistle, his face lit up with pride. 

She gave him a thumbs-up. “Awesome! Wanna go spy on people for fun?” 

“But what if Poolcheck catches us?” Ford asked nervously. “He seems emotionally unstable.” 

All of them looked over at Poolcheck. The man had climbed up the fence and was dangling upside-down, his legs hooked over the top of railing. As they watched, he straightened up so that he was standing on the fence, swept his gaze over the pool, and then folded back to hang upside down, growling softly to himself. 

“Nah, you just gotta be sneaky about it,” Seandra said. “That's what undercover reporters do! C'mon!” 

She grabbed his hand and they ran off, laughing. 

_Are all the adults in Gravity Falls this volatile?_ Fiddleford thought. 

He turned back to Mabel. She was chatting it up with the other two boys in the pool jail. 

“So what're ya in for?” one of them asked. 

“I'm guessing about two hours, with Seandra's attention span,” Mabel said brightly. “I'll have plenty of time to cook up my plans for revenge!” 

“Yeah, I probably wouldn't mention those out loud,” Fiddleford cautioned.

“Don't worry about it,” said the other kid. “Pool jail ain't so bad...as long as you don't get wind up in solitary.” 

He pointed, and Fiddleford followed his gesture. There was a kid, an _actual person_ stuck behind the grate set into the wall of the pool. 

“It's the nights that are the hardest,” the kid whispered to himself. 

Fiddleford gulped. “Oh dear,” he said faintly. 

 

Stanley was sitting on the edge of the pool, dangling his legs in the water. Carla had taken Moo-Moo to the bathroom, so he was just hanging around and wondering how he could steal a rubber duck pool toy to give to Soos. The guy would probably treat it as the Rubber Duck King, maybe even make a little crown for it and everything. Stanley snickered to himself.

Suddenly the hair on his neck stood on end and he looked up sharply. But the pool looked totally normal. Weird..he was sure someone had been staring at him. 

He looked over at the bathrooms. Man, Carla was taking forever. Girls and bathrooms. It was like they were magnets or something. Haha, magnets! A science joke he actually understood! He grinned and made a mental note to tell Ford – 

The hair on his neck prickled again.

He checked behind him, but nobody was even facing his direction. He checked the pool, but the only things close to him were an empty floaty bed and a bunch of wrinkly old raisins, floating around and reading books and looking somewhat dazed from the summer heat. 

He leaned back casually, closed his eyes...and then flipped over the pool bed with his foot. 

“Ah-HA!” 

“Ack!” 

The flaxen-haired girl popped out of the water, quickly grabbing for the floaty and blushing. Or maybe she was just really cold, because her cheeks looked sort of blue. She stared at him angrily. “What was _that_ for?” 

“Uh, I'm gonna say, spying on me?” He flicked his hand at her. “Go on, get outta dodge. I know I'm a real stud, but this girlbait's taken, capiche?” 

Her expression changed from mad to shy and she did this weird fluttery thing with her eyes. “You certainly are girlbait, aren't you?” she said softly, almost singing the words. She had this really pretty voice, sort of low and gentle.

“Yeah...uh, yeah, but like I said, I have a girlfriend. A real one,” he added. 

“I'm sure you do,” she purred. “You're so handsome.” 

Her voice really was pretty. “Uh-huh,” he said.

“And manly.” 

“Mmm.” What were they talking about?

“And _mysterious..._ ” 

He was starting to think it was sort of dumb to be sitting on the side of the pool. He was up _here_ and the girl was down _there_. What was he waiting for? He should really dive into the water with – 

“Hey!” 

Stanley jerked, startled, and nearly fell into the pool. Carla walked over, holding Moo-Moo's hand and frowning a little. 

“Hi, who're you?” she asked the girl rather sharply. 

The girl smiled. “Oh, nobody special. Toodles, Stanley.” She gave Stan a little finger-wave and swam off, pulling the floaty with her. 

Carla narrowed her eyes at Stanley. It was hard to tell with girls, but she looked a little upset. 

“What?” he asked. 

“It looked like you guys were flirting,” she said ominously. Ah, yes, definitely upset. 

“We were _not_ flirting,” Stan said firmly. “We were...” Actually he couldn't remember what they'd talked about. “I think she might've been asking about the snack bar?” he said, but he wasn't too sure. 

“Hmm,” Carla growled. “Watch Marco. I'm going diving.” She dropped her brother's hand and stalked off towards the diving boards. 

Moo-Moo glared at him. 

“Oh, stuff those peepers with peppers,” Stan said irritably. “I wasn't flirting with anyone. I mean look at her!” He gestured to Carla, who did a truly magnificent cannon ball, making a splash that reached all the way across the pool and soaked them instantly. Stanley sighed with admiration. “She can dance, she can break rules, she can cannon ball like an _actual cannon ball._ ” 

Moo-Moo grunted. “Uh-huh. Well, now you're gonna have to buy me an ice-cream sundae every time you want me to give you a compliment in front of my sister. And not the plain ones, either. I want actual _toppings._ ” 

“You, kid, are an extortionist,” Stan grouched. “ _Two_ compliments, and it's a deal.” 

 

Fiddleford and Mabel crouched behind a dumpster to spy on Bud. He was a little uncomfortable spying on someone. He didn't know why Ford and Seandra liked it so much. 

“Um...why are we doing this again?” he asked. 

“Because the Gleefuls are shallow, petty attention hogs with no regard for other people's personal space or property,” Mabel said shortly. “And we're going to teach them a lesson!” 

“Uh-huh...” The word _hypocrite_ came to mind, but he was too polite to say so. “I'm, uh, I'm a little uncomfortable doing this. Is it okay if I just go check on Stanley or Ford or something?” 

“Eh? Oh, sure, sure...” 

He walked away quickly. She was his boss, true, but she was also a little too intense sometimes. He could've sworn he heard her muttering 'burn the child' and hoped his ears were water-clogged. 

He paused by the bathrooms and looked around. Ford was over with Seandra, and both of them were bending over her notepad. They looked up periodically to give the pool a cursory sweep, then went right back to writing notes. He knew he'd be a third wheel there, so he scanned the pool for Stanley. Since Carla had brought along her brother, he figured he could volunteer to watch him for a bit, and give the two of them a chance to get better acquainted. 

He spotted the three of them huddled around the snack bar and headed over. 

“...but we can get you an ice cream Sunday later,” Stanley was telling Marco. 

Marco looked up at Stanley, his big brown eyes shining. “Reawy?” he said, in an obviously affected voice. 

“Really, sport.” Stanley ruffled his hair. 

Marco wiped his face. “Wow, Stanley, you're so thoughtful _and_ nice.” 

“Well, shucks,” he said, glancing at Carla. 

Carla grinned and whacked them both lightly on the head. “I see what's going on here,” she scolded them playfully. “But however you do it, it's nice to see the two of you getting along.” 

Fiddleford laughed. 

“Oh hey, Fiddleford,” Carla said, glancing over. “You get bored following Ford? Wow, that was a really good unintentional rhyme-slash-alliteration.” 

“Nah, I just thought I'd offer to watch Marco for a while,” Fiddleford said. “How 'bout it, Marco, you wanna go play – uh...”

“Marco Polo,” Marco said with a sigh. “I will never _not_ avoid that joke.” 

“You could turn it into Moo-Moo Poo-Poo,” Stanley offered, and Carla laughed and whacked him again. He laughed and nudged her back. 

Fiddleford led Marco over to the shallow end, but Marco insisted on going deeper. So they borrowed one of those duck flotation hoops from the supply closet and a couple of water wings, and reapplied suntan lotion, and then Fiddleford let him go to the middle of the pool. 

“Gee, let's not get too wild,” Marco said sarcastically. 

“It never hurts to be careful,” Fidds said, keeping a close eye on how close other people came to Marco. Caring for another person was a big responsibility, and he wanted to do a good job of keeping him safe. 

About three minutes later there was a shriek from the other end of the pool, followed closely by a splash. 

Before he had time to think, something whizzed over Fiddleford's head and Seandra dove into the water, red flotation device in hand. Fidds instinctively grabbed hold of Marco and started hauling him out of the water. 

“But I'm fine!” Marco protested. 

“Yeah, but someone else might be –”

“ _Stanley!_ ” 

He looked up and his heart stopped cold. Seandra was dragging Stanley out of the pool. 

Before Fiddleford had time to really panic, Stanley started struggling weakly in Seandra's grasp. He coughed and sputtered. 

“I'm fine, I'm fine!” he managed. “Go on, I said I'm fine!” 

Ford was hovering at his side, looking white as a sheet and trying hard not to freak out. 

Fiddleford turned. “Mrs. Pines!” he yelled. “ _Mrs. Pines!_ ” 

Mrs. Pines appeared instantly. All he had to do was point and she took off at a dead run, slip-sliding on the wet cement as she hurried over to Stanley. Fiddleford followed close behind, Marco no longer arguing about it, intent on seeing what happened up-close. 

The three of them forced their way through the crowd. Stanley was sitting on the cement, arguing with Seandra about getting back in the water, and Ford was kneeling next to Stanley, his hand on his brother's shoulder. Ford's grip was so tight the tips of his fingers turned white, but Stanley didn't look bothered. 

“I _said_ I'm fine, I just fell in on accident or something!” Stanley said. 

“What do you mean, 'or something'?” Seandra asked. “Here – tilt your head up. I gotta check your pupils. Does your head hurt? Ford, go get Mr. Poolcheck.” 

But Stanley grabbed Ford's hand as he turned to leave. “Fuggeddaboutit,” he said. “I promise, I really am fine. Where's Carla, anyway? I'd definitely pretend to be not-fine if she felt like giving me CPR.” 

Fiddleford checked the water fearfully, but so many people had clambered out that it was easy to see straight to the bottom. There was nothing there – no Carla, just a few bits of trash that had sunk to the bottom.

“Huh,” said Stanley, looking around. “I coulda sworn she was here a second ago...did she go to the bathroom or something?” 

“I'd better check,” Seandra said. She ordered Ford to make sure he stayed put and then headed off to the bathroom. 

“Alright, alright, clear it out!” Mrs. Pines barked in the crowd. She held up a water balloon. “I'm armed with explosives and I'm not afraid to use them, now _scat!_ ” 

Sensing the wisdom in obeying, the crowd dispersed. 

“I see what you mean about being safe,” Marco whispered to Fiddleford. He squeezed the boy's hand. 

Mrs. Pines turned back to Stanley, looking upset. “I think we've had enough pool for one day,” she said. 

“But –”

“No buts!” 

“I-I'm a lifeguard,” Ford stammered. They were the first words he'd spoken since Stanley got dunked. “I can't just _leave._ ” 

“I'll talk to Mr. Poolcheck. Where is he, anyway?” Mabel shaded her eyes, grunting with disgust. “Figures, the one time someone's _actually_ in danger and his super-paranoid self isn't even here.” 

Seandra arrived from the bathrooms, looking rather pale. “Carla's not in there,” she reported. 

“She might've gone home,” Marco said. “I think maybe I saw her leave, but I could be wrong.” 

Stanley looked surprised. “She left?” 

Marco nodded. “I think so. She was sort of stomping towards the gate, all mad.” 

“You kids go find her and I'll meet you at the bus stop,” Mrs. Pines ordered. “I'm going to go have a word with Mr. Paranoid. Seandra, Ford, you're with me. Let's go rip him a new one, shall we?” 

She stormed off. Fiddleford felt a little sorry for Mr. Poolcheck. 

Then he took Marco's hand and they followed Stanley to the gate. Stanley was obviously upset about leaving early. A few people stared at them as they walked past and Stanley turned even surlier. They passed through the pool gate and Stanley practically glared at the ticket guy. 

“So what happened?” Fiddleford asked, as they headed down the street. 

“How should I know?” Stanley snapped. “One minute we were having a great time, and the next Seandra's yanking me out of the water like the catch of the day!” 

They rounded the corner and the bus stop came into view – along with Carla, who was standing by the bus sign, her arms crossed and her head lowered. 

“Hey!” Stanley shouted, and the three of them ran up to her. “Hey, Carla, why'd you lea–”

_SMACK._

Stanley stepped back, stunned, his hand on his cheek. Fiddleford and Marco stared at her. Then Fiddleford noticed there were tears in Carla's eyes. 

“Stanley Pines, you total _jerkwad,_ ” she spat, her voice tight with suppressed tears. 

“What did I _do?!_ ” Stanley yelped. 

“You know perfectly well what you did!” She jabbed at his chest so hard Stan took a step back. “You were – you were _flirting with that girl!_ Right in front of me!” 

Stan looked utterly clueless. “What girl?” 

“UGH! You are UNBELIEVABLE!” 

“Hold on,” Fiddleford said quickly, stepping between them. “Let's take it easy. Stanley fell in the pool just now, and he might've hit his head.” 

“He fell in the _what?_ ” Carla asked, just as Stanley said, “I did _not_ hit my head!” 

“Are you okay?” Carla asked him. “No, wait, I don't care if you're okay, you were still flirting and it hurt my feelings!” 

“I – I wasn't,” Stanley said, taken aback. “I was just walking to the pool...and then I was in the water and you were gone!” 

“Hold on,” Fiddleford said, holding up his hands before Carla could speak. “Stanley's a pretty good liar, but not to people he really cares about. Watch.” He turned to Stanley. “Go ahead, Stanley, tell her what your favorite movie is.” 

Stanley turned beet red. “What for? I like action movies! I do not like old lady romances! And I _especially_ don't like black-and-white boring old lady movies like _The Duchess Approves!_ ”

“I see what you mean,” Carla said. 

Stanley groaned. “I hate you, Fiddlenerd.” 

“But I saw you flirting with my own eyes!” Carla cried, pointing at Stan. “I just went to get one of those rubber duck things, and I turn around and you're lying on your stomach, talking to some girl in the pool, with your noses so close you could've kissed!” 

Stanley blinked. “Wait...did she have really blond hair and a nice voice?” 

“A nice _VOICE?!_ ” Carla looked close to crying. “You do know her, I don't care if you hit your head and forgot, you were _flirting!_ ” 

“No, wait – she was stalking me – honest!” 

But Carla grabbed Marco's hand. “Forget it! Come on, Marco, we're going home.” 

“We're _walking?_ ” he asked incredulously, as she tugged him away. “It's like, a million miles!” 

“I don't care!” 

Marco looked back at Stanley over his shoulder. _All-you-can-eat Sundays_ , he mouthed, and Stanley nodded miserably. 

“I really didn't flirt with anyone,” Stan said miserably. 

“I know,” said Fiddleford. And he did. As much as Stanley lied – and he could be quite convincing – he'd never yet hurt the people he cared about. “I believe you, Stanley.” 

For a minute Stanley acted like he hadn't heard, and his shoulders were all stiff like he was going to cry or punch something. Then he stomped to the bus stop and sat down on the bench. 

“Okay,” he muttered. “Thanks, Fiddleford.” 

Fiddleford sat down next to him and they waited for Ms. Pines to pick them up. 

 

_One, two, three, four..._

The events of the day kept repeating themselves in Ford's mind. 

 

When it had happened, Ford and Seandra had been sitting on a spare lawn chair over by the dumpster, holding their noses while Seandra took notes on Mr. Poolcheck. Ford's job was to keep a lookout for weird behavior and drowning kids, but the scene was pretty mellow. 

_...five, six, seven, eight..._

He had just been thinking that they should do a little more digging into Mr. Poolcheck's background – find out what other jobs he held, maybe figure out why he was so obsessed with the pool – when they heard a splash. 

_...nine, ten, eleven, twelve..._

Ford firmly believed that twin ESP was a myth. He and Stanley didn't seem to have it. But when he heard that noise his whole body turned cold and he broke out in a cold sweat. 

_...thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen..._

At least Seandra had had actual lifeguard training – apparently she'd signed up for an online course just so she could nail the position at the pool. Now _that_ was undercover journalism he could definitely respect. And he was really glad she'd done it because, for all that Stanley insisted he was fine, Seandra had probably saved his brother's life. 

_...seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty._

He stopped the compressions and bent to put his face on the plushie. 

“Uh...Ford? What're you doing?” 

Ford looked up. He was kneeling on the floor of their bedroom. One of Mabel's teddy bears was lying on the floor in front of him. He was pinching its nose. 

“I'm...I was just practicing CPR.” 

“Aw, what?” Stan crossed his arms and leaned on the doorway. “C'mon, bro. You're not seriously still freaked out that I fell in the pool?” 

“It's not that. I mean, that was scary, but it was worse not knowing how to fix it.” He let go of the toy and sat back, gesturing. “I know all this crazy stuff about the universe, but not enough to save you if you drown. I just...I need to know _more_. About _everything_. So...” He nodded at Ria's cell phone, sitting on his bed. “I borrowed Ria's cell phone to look up how to do CPR online. It's not an actual class or anything, but it's _something._ ” 

Stanley raised an eyebrow. “'Borrowed' as in...” 

“As in asked and was given permission,” he said firmly. 

His brother shook his head. “Disappointing, bro-bro, very disappointing.” 

Ford threw the teddy bear at him. Stanley laughed and threw it back. 

“You gonna be okay tonight?” Ford asked, getting up. “Poolcheck put me on night-watch duty. I gotta make sure none of the other pool supplies go missing or he'll fire me.” 

“Harsh sauce.” 

“Eh.” He went to grab the life guard whistle. He'd left it hanging on his bedpost. “The _real_ bummer is it'll be just me. It'd be way more fun if Seandra was there, too.” 

“In a bikini?” Stanley said slyly. 

“Stanley!” Ford shoved him and laughed a little too loudly. Because he was pretty sure he was blushing redder than a sunburned tomato. “I'm heading off to catch the last bus. There's a pool cart I can use to get back home.” 

“What about Fiddleford?” 

Ford blinked at him. “What?” 

“Fiddleford,” Stanley repeated. “You guys _said_ you'd be working on your lab thing tonight. He's out there right now trying to blow stuff up with a death ray or something.” 

Ford groaned. “I totally forgot. Just go keep him company, will you?” 

“Dude. We only _look_ alike.”

“You'll be fine, just go stand next to him and try not to touch anything. I'll be back as soon as my shift ends at one.” 

“In the _morning?_ ” 

“No, the afternoon. Yes, the morning!” 

“Okay, okay, sheesh.” He paused. “Hey, Ford...since you're into anomalies and everything...there was this girl at the pool –”

Ford caught sight of the clock. “Oh, no, I'm gonna miss the bus!” He grabbed a flashlight and ran out the door and down the hall. “Tell me later, Stanley! See you!” 

 

Stanley pretended to brush his teeth and get into his pajamas to pacify Mabel. She'd been trying to baby him all night, asking him if his head hurt and did he want more soda or something, but he wasn't really in the mood to enjoy it. He kept thinking about Carla. 

Eventually Mabel sent him to bed, where he lay down and pretended to be asleep until he could no longer hear her moving around downstairs. 

Then he crept out of his room, slid down the banister to avoid stepping on all the creaky stairs, snuck past her room, and turned the TV on real low. He watched a late-night rerun of _Pop Quiz for Adults!, Cash Wheel!,_ and _Ducktective._ After that there was literally nothing else on except an infomercial on blenders. While they held intriguing prank ideas, it got boring after about five seconds. 

He went to the kitchen, made himself a sandwich, and headed outside to the lab. 

The nerd, of course, was working away, totally oblivious to the world. He was messing with some kind of circuit and muttering calculations under his breath. 

“Hey Fiddleford,” Stan said. 

Fiddleford reached for a circuit breaker and kept working. 

“Yo, earth to nerdling.” 

Nada. 

Stanley sighed. “Evolution is a hoax invented by the lizard people from planet Neflar,” he said loudly. 

Fiddleford looked up, blinking like he was coming out of a trance. “What?” 

Stanley rolled his eyes. “You are _such_ a Ford. Here, dork, have half a sandwich.” He held it out the rest of his snack. 

“Oh – thanks.” Fiddleford took it and started munching, somehow managing to eat cheese and mayo neatly. “Where's Ford, anyway? We were supposed to be working on this together.” 

“At the pool. He told me to tell you he'd be back around one.” 

Fiddleford sighed and leaned back, stretching. “Well, I already asked my Pa if I could stay the night, so I guess I'll just keep working.” 

“If you two are building another galactic missile and you kill my car...” Stanley said warningly. 

But Fiddleford waved him off. “No, no, not this time. Ford had this idea for a machine that'll create its own energy as it runs, so I said I'd help him build the circuitry for it. The idea is, if we can get it started – even if we have to input energy for that – it'll trigger a sequence of events which generate energy as fast as it's used up. Theoretically, if the machine's parts weren't subject to erosion or decay or entropy in general, the machine could run itself forever.” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“You have no idea what I just said, do you?” 

“Sure, sure. You said 'the' and 'and' a coupla times.” 

Fiddleford laughed. 

Stanley sat on the table where Fiddleford was working. He pinched off a bit of Fiddleford's half of the sandwich and popped it into his mouth. “I don't get it,” he said suddenly. “I'm cute, I'm handsome, I'm loveable – why is it so hard for me to hold down a girl?” 

“I assume you're talking about the fiasco at the pool.” 

“That girl was totally stalking me,” Stanley said. “Not Carla – the other one. You saw her, too, right?” 

“What girl?” 

“Super-blond hair, nice voice. Obsessed with hanging onto a floaty, so probably couldn't swim for beans. And yet _I'm_ the one who nearly drowned.” 

Fiddleford shook his head. “Sorry, Stanley, I sort of had my hands full with Marco. I believe you, though.” 

Stanley shook his head. “You know what your middle name is, McGucket?” 

“Hadron?” 

“Gullible.” 

“Not on my birth certificate.” 

“Seriously. A guy could get away with murder and you'd still believe he was innocent.” 

“I take it this is your way of saying, 'Thank you for supporting me, Fiddleford, you are a true friend and I respect you.'” 

Stanley smirked. “Sure, if I was a Southern dork like you.” 

Fiddleford flicked a sandwich crumb at him. 

 

The pool at night was actually pretty quiet. Just the moon and the crickets and the wind that rustled through the trees. And the pool water helped cool the surrounding atmosphere, so even though it had been a really hot day and the cement was still warm, Ford was actually comfortable wearing his jacket with his shorts. 

He tapped his palm with the flashlight, pacing back and forth along the length of the pool. “Alright, Ford, here's the plan: Catch the trespasser, protect the supplies, keep job at pool, and eventually marry Seandra. Piece o' cake.” 

Suddenly there was a splash. 

Ford whipped around. “FREEZE!” 

The beam of the flashlight fell on a girl floating in the pool, leaning on a floaty and shielding her eyes with her arm. 

“Ugh, could you turn off the light?” she murmured. 

“Sorry,” he said automatically, switching it off. “Wait, you're trespassing! Are you the one stealing floaties?! You need to get out of the pool right now!” 

“But...” She lowered her arm and looked up at him. She had really beautiful eyes, a rich navy color as deep as the sky. “I...I can't leave,” she whispered.

“What, you need a ride or something?” 

“No, I mean...” She tugged on a strand of her hair. It was so blond it looked almost white in the moonlight, like starlight. “I mean...I can't leave the water.” 

“Uh-huh,” Ford said. She was so pretty... Then he blinked and snapped out if it. “Wait, are you like...a mermaid or something?” He took a step closer, excitement growing in his chest. “You are, aren't you? That's why you're hiding behind that floaty thing, right? Can I see your tail?!” 

She smiled shyly, moved aside the floaty...

...and revealed two absolutely normal-looking legs. 

Ford's face fell. 

“Oh, no, _don't_ look disappointed, Stanley!” the girl pleaded. 

He blinked again, surprised. “I'm not Stanley, I'm Stanford. How do you know Stanley?” 

She ignored the question, looking him over more carefully. “Twins, then, I guess? Somehow you're not _quite_ as cute as Stan...” 

He sputtered. “We're _identical!_ ” 

“...but you'll have to do.” She smiled at him. “Tell me, Stanford, are mermaids the _only_ creatures you're interested in?” 

“Uh...no, no...” Something in her voice had changed. It was all soft and husky and silky and really, really pretty. He wanted her to talk again. “Do you, uh, do you know anything about mythical sea creatures?” 

“I might,” she purred. “Here, why don't you come sit by the pool for a while? I know quite a bit about one magical creature in particular...” 

 

Stanley hung up the phone in disgust. “Carla _still_ isn't answering my calls.” 

“Give it a day or two, she'll come around.” Fiddleford was fitting several tiny pieces of metal together with screws using tweezers. “Hey, hand me the smallest pair of pliers on the wall over there, would you?” 

Stanley got up and passed them over. Then he went over to the other side of the lab that served as a garage and flopped down into his car. He lay on his back across the front seats, letting his legs dangle over the door. “I don't get it. I don't even _remember_ what happened, but all I was thinking about all day was Carla and Carla in a bathing suit and breaking rules with Carla and maybe kissing her when we finally got rid of Marco. Now I owe the kid all the ice cream Sundays he can eat and Carla's out for my blood. I don't even _remember what happened!_ ” 

There came a metallic clink and a sigh of satisfaction. “Perfect. Anyway, you probably banged your head pretty hard. Amnesia's actually pretty uncommon, but after a traumatic event –”

“Would you guys stop? I'm telling you that I did not hit my head. One minute I was waiting for Carla, and the next I was getting dragged out of the water.”

“Well, if you didn't hit your head, how do you explain the memory loss?” Fiddleford asked. 

Stanley twisted around to glare at Fiddleford. “Don't confuse me with your nerd logic,” he growled. “I dunno, there's plenty of weird stuff in this town. Why don't _you_ explain the memory loss?” 

“Well, let's see.” Fiddleford turned in his chair, leaned back, and started ticking off on his fingers. “You were stalked by a girl. She had blond hair and a nice voice. Carla said she saw you flirting with said girl. Then you fell into the water and have no memory of what happened right before.” 

“Exactly! I'm completely innocent here!” 

“Odd as it may seem, I don't doubt you, but I don't seem to have another explanation to offer.” Fiddleford shrugged and spun around, getting back to work on his mini sci-fi machine. “If Stanford was here, though, I bet he could come up with quite a few anomalies that fit the bill. Mermaids or selkies or –” He stopped short. 

Stanley, who had lay back down, popped up again. “What? What is it?” 

Fiddleford's face was very pale. “Oh. Oh, no. Stanley, quick – we've gotta get to the pool!” 

 

Ford was floating. He was definitely floating, but he was pretty sure he wasn't in the water. There was this really beautiful sound, like someone singing. It was like listening to pure silver, or the essence of beauty distilled in a pearly cup for him to drink. It was amazing. It was almost even better than hanging out with Seandra. He had to get closer. 

The girl – she was a siren, wasn't she? Had to be. There was something dangerous about sirens...but Ford had trouble concentrating on it. She was singing about the water, how it went sliding against his skin, cool and soothing, like liquid peace. If he went into the water, he could feel it for himself – the lightness, the utter freedom. 

The siren's smooth arms encircled him, inviting him in. Vaguely he remembered that he'd have to hold his breath. Then he thought, _That's silly, I'm a lifeguard! I know CPR!_

The silver music buoyed him up. He relaxed...

 

“STOP RIGHT THERE!” 

Stanley let go of the wheel, grabbed the slingshot in his pocket, and started shooting straight through the chainlink fence around the pool. 

_ZING ZING ZING ZING!_

The car zoomed erratically on the road. Fiddleford shrieked and lunged across Stanley to grab the wheel. They careened towards the pool, where his stupid genius of a brother had knelt down and was leaning towards the water, a look of vacant bliss on his face. The siren had her arms wrapped around Ford's neck, ready to pull him in, but a lucky shot pinged her arm and she yelped. 

“CURSE YOU, STANLEY PINES, YOU DEVILISHLY HANDSOME HERO!” she shouted. (At least he assumed that's what she shouted – he and Fiddleford had grabbed earplugs to keep her song from hypnotizing them.) 

Stan's car was still aimed straight for the chainlink fence. He stomped on the brake and he smelled the tires burning, felt the friction vibrating up through his seat – and then the car slowed just enough to bounce off the fence. 

Stan shut off the engine and leaped out of the car. “FORD!” he shouted at the top of his lungs. “WAKE UP! SHE'S A SIREN!” 

The siren glared at him and then turned back to Ford, who was still staring at her the way Gompers looked at fresh alfalfa. He could see her mouth moving and she started to draw Ford back into the water. 

“OH NO YOU DON'T!” Stanley scooped up a rock and beaned her right on the temple with his slingshot. She yelped and covered her face, ducking under the water. Ford stayed kneeling by the pool like an idiot. “FORD, WAKE UP ALREADY!”

Fiddleford had jumped out of the car and was quickly cutting a large hole in the fence with the wire-cutters from his lab. When the siren's head popped up again, Fiddleford quickly motioned for Stanley to keep firing. Stan was happy to oblige. 

Unfortunately, the siren figured out that they were going to reach her in seconds and snatch away her food supply – or whatever sirens did with incredibly handsome Pines men. She lifted herself partway out of the water, keeping Ford between herself and Stanley, and mouthed something in Ford's ear. He nodded and quickly got up. Stanley cheered – and then he saw Ford heading straight for the pool supply shed, unlock it, grab a megaphone, and come back. He handed it to the siren. 

“ _Back off, boys, or Ford goes to Davy Jone's locker!_ ” the siren shouted. She was so loud Stan could hear her through the earplugs. But even though her voice still sounded amazing, it wasn't enough to enchant them through a solid half-inch of rubber earplugs.

“When I get in there I'm gonna turn you into shark chum!” Stan shouted. 

Fiddleford reached forward and pushed, and a whole piece of fence fell over, big enough for them to drive Stan's car through. Stanley yelled triumphantly and leaped into the pool area. 

The mermaid shrieked and grabbed Ford, who hauled her out of the pool and half-carried her straight to the pool cart. 

“HEY!” Stanley hurried after them, but Ford shoved the siren into the cart, hopped into the driver's seat and started the engine. Ford looked up and Stan's chest went cold – his brother was looking straight through him. 

Stanley yelled and dove aside as Ford aimed the cart towards the hole in the fence.

“NOT THE CAR!” Stan shouted, scrambling to his feet. Fiddleford saw the cart coming, jumped into the driver's seat and hit reverse, trying to get it out of Ford's way. Ford didn't stop, didn't even slow down, and the pool cart slammed into the front bumper, leaving a football-sized dent. 

Stan sprinted for the car, jumped in, and Fiddleford stepped on the gas. They roared after Ford, who was now heading straight for the lake. 

“KNOCK THE SIREN OUT AND TAKE ALL THE GLORY!” Fiddleford shouted (probably), and Stanley grabbed the bag of rocks he'd stashed on the floor and fired shot after shot. 

The siren squealed and ducked, and Ford started swerving all over the road, making it hard to hit her. A couple of times he beaned Ford in the back of the head on accident, but Ford must've been just as thick-skulled as Stan, because he didn't so much as flinch. 

Suddenly the siren stood up in the pool cart, three water balloons in each hand. She started chucking them one after the other. Stan popped the first two in midair, which was _awesome_. But he missed the third, which smacked Fiddleford in the face. He coughed and choked and jerked at the wheel. Stanley fell against the side of the car, knocking his head so hard an earplug popped out. 

“Ow! Oh, sure, _now_ I hit my head!” 

The two cars roared down the road. The trees parted as the lake came into view. Ford headed straight for the water – and he wasn't slowing down in the slightest. 

Stanley grabbed the console, yanked it out, and pried up a nail. He set it into his slingshot and fired. 

The nail hit the right rear tire of the pool cart and blew out instantly. The cart skidded and fishtailed wildly. Fiddleford slammed on the brakes to avoid a collision and Stanley smacked his head into the dash so hard he literally saw stars. 

For a second he thought maybe he'd gotten knocked out. Then he figured, no, he was awake, because his head was pounding like a marching band. No, wait, it wasn't pounding. Nothing hurt at all, actually, and he'd feel even better once he got into the water...

He clamped a hand over his right ear to block out the song. The pain returned full-force. He blinked the darkness from his eyes and struggled to his feet. 

His car had driven partway onto a log, stuck with its front tires up in the air. Fiddleford was struggling under one of the log's branches. He was pinned and trying to get loose, but his skinny nerd arms weren't helping much. He wasn't hurt though. Stanley looked towards the water.

The pool cart was stopped a few feet from the shore, but Ford and the Siren were gone. 

 

Carla's phone pinged again. She was sitting in her bedroom, her knees drawn up to her chest, glaring at it. 

Someone knocked on her door, and her mom poked her head in. “Carla, honey, you shouldn't stay up so late.” 

“It's summer, mom, it'll be fine.” 

“Oh, honey...” Her mom came and sat down on her bed. She reached out a hand to stroke Carla's hair. “You're not even wearing your flower today. Did something happen?” 

“My boyfriend's a jerk, is what happened.” 

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

Carla shook her head. 

“Alright, dear. But you should never go to bed angry. My advice would be to call him and fix the problem.” 

“Moo-oom. It's, like, almost midnight.” 

Her mother shrugged. “You've got your phone out anyway. And for all you know, he's still awake ruminating over the same thing you are. You can always leave a message if he doesn't pick up. I guarantee, you'll feel better getting your feelings off your chest.” She leaned forward, kissed Carla's cheek, and then left the room. 

Carla waited until the door was shut. And then she waited until she heard her mother's footsteps walked away. (Moms were so nosy.) Then she picked up the phone. 

To her surprise, the last missed call wasn't from Stanley at all – it was from Fiddleford. 

_Hmm._ Well, she didn't hate _his_ guts, and she really wanted to put off calling Stanley. So she dialed her voicemail and held up the phone to listen to his message. 

 

Stanley sprinted for the water. He could see the siren's pale hair gleaming under the surface. No time for the slingshot – he scooped up a rock without breaking stride, took aim, and threw. 

The rock smashed into the water like a high-powered meteor. There was a bright flash of light and a BANG and Ford came sputtering to the surface, the pale streak of the siren's hair darting off. 

“FORD!” Stanley shouted, and plunged into the lake. Luckily the siren hadn't had Ford in the water for long. He was looking around all wild-eyed, but he wasn't drowning. “Kick your shoes off!” Stan ordered. The two of them shed their sneakers and swam for shore. Stanley dragged his brother up onto the gritty sand. 

“Si – siren,” Ford gasped, and spat up lake water. 

“Gee, ya think?” Stanley thwacked him on the back. “Breathe, Ford, I don't know how to do CPR!” 

Ford choked, this time with laughter, and batted his hand away. “That doesn't – _pfkagh_ – help, Stanley,” he managed, still coughing. “Where – what happened?” 

“You went to the pool, got suckered by the siren who tried to drown me earlier, and me 'n' Fiddleford came to rescue you.” He jabbed a thumb at the nearly-wrecked Stanley Mobile, where Fiddleford was still struggling to get loose. 

“Whuh – Fiddleford!” Ford jumped to his feet and stumbled towards him. 

Fiddleford waved. Then suddenly his expression changed and he started pointing behind them and slapping himself in the side of the head. 

“What is he – ?” Stanley started to ask. Suddenly a powerful voice rolled over the lake. He spun around. 

The siren had perched herself on the nearest rock a few dozen yards away, the megaphone clutched in her hand. Her blond hair stood up in spikes. Even from a distance, she looked seriously ticked off. 

“ _You little fools,_ ” she growled, and the megaphone screeched. Ford and Stan both clapped their hands to their ears – and then Stanley realized why Fiddleford had freaked out. Ford wasn't wearing earplugs, and Stan's only remaining plug had fallen out in the water. He could still hear the siren through his hands. “ _I don't care that you drove me from the pool. You just brought me twice the number of souls to eat! So what if I can't survive out of water yet? After I eat you, I'll grow so strong I'll survive long enough to walk back to the pool and feast on more victims all summer long!_ ” 

She started to sing. 

“NO!” Stanley shouted, pressing harder on his eardrums. “Ford, quick, cover your –”

Ford barreled past him so fast he knocked Stanley over. Stanley yelled and leaped, catching Ford around the knees and bringing them down hard. 

“Let go, Stanley!” Ford barked, twisting to dig at the ground and drag them closer to the edge of the lake. “I _said_ , let me go already!” 

With his arms wrapped around Ford's legs, there was nothing to cover Stan's ears. The song slipped into Stan's brain like liquid silver. 

“ _The horizon draws its endless line/Around a world of blue and brine..._ ” 

Ford was kicking and punching at him and yanking at his hair. He could hear Fiddleford shouting something. Stanley tightened his grip as much as he could, burying his face in Ford's legs.

“ _And the sailor sets his course by star/To flee a past that left a scar..._ ”

Ford was screaming at him to let go, let him get to the water. Stan's own feet were digging at the sand, pushing them closer to the waves. He had to hold on. Hold on. The thought skittered through his brain, fighting with the music. 

“ _I understand your inmost soul/I know what gift will make you whole..._ ”

The song was a soothing drink cooling his throat. Stanley just had to get in the water, the hitting would stop, he could barely feel it anyway, he just had to let go and he'd be safe in the water, safe forever. 

But if he let go Ford would die – 

“ _So come and join me in the tide,/I promise I'll stay by your side..._ ”

And then Ford gave a particularly powerful kick and knocked Stanley several feet over the sand. Stan scrambled to his feet and charged into the water and into the music that was silver and gold and promised he'd never be alone or hurt again – 

_POCK!_

The music broke off and the siren shrieked. 

Stanley snapped back to himself with a start. Both he and Ford had plunged into the water and were standing chest-deep in the lake. 

“YEAH, THAT'S WHAT I THOUGHT!” someone shouted. Stan turned. 

Carla was standing on the shore, her feet spread wide, Stanley's slingshot in her hand. She'd taken aim and fired a rock straight at the siren's microphone. 

She glared daggers at the siren. “YOU WANT MORE, YOU ARIEL WANNABE? 'CUZ I GOT PLENTY WHERE THAT CAME FROM!” She scooped up another rock and took aim. 

The siren stood on her rock, her eyes as cold as outer space. She threw the megaphone into the water and took a deep breath. 

Immediately Stanley threw himself at Ford, shoving his brother's head under the water to muffle the song. He held his own head under the water, too. They could hear the song but its power could no longer touch them. 

Ford gave him a thumbs up and motioned for Stanley to start swimming. They stayed underwater, swimming for the shore until their fingers scraped the shallow bottom and their lungs were burning for oxygen. They burst to the surface, clutching their ears. 

Stanley had swum up about three feet to the right of Carla. She no longer looked like she was about to take down a tiger with her bare hands. Instead she looked like she'd already done it and was savoring her victory, one fist on her hip, her free hand twirling the slingshot. 

“ _Womp womp womp womp womp womp,_ ” she said. 

Stanley took his hands from his ears. “What?” 

She rolled her eyes. “I said you can put your hands down.” She smiled, a slightly sinister smile that Stanley found seriously hot, and gestured at the lake with the slingshot. “That siren's not going to bother _us_ ever again.”

“You, Carla, are amazing.” 

She smiled smugly. “I know.” 

Ford was trying to wipe off his glasses with his soaking-wet shirt. “That was _nuts_ ,” he said, staring at the lake. He looked pale and cold and utterly fascinated. “D'you mean you're utterly immune from siren song? Or d'you think you're just immune from _female_ siren song? And did you happen to see if it left the lake or if it's still in there? I'd love to ask it some questions about –”

“NO,” said Carla and Stanley at once. 

Fiddleford spoke up, still stuck under the branch. “I'll just hang out here till you're done talking, shall I?” 

 

Eight hours later, a very exhausted Ford stood in front of Mr. Poolcheck. The pool had just opened, and his boss had come to check on the equipment. Ford clasped his hands behind his back, wincing as his boss surveyed the damage. 

“A wrecked fence...a flat tire in the pool mobile...and a missing megaphone?!” Poolcheck spun around and grabbed Ford's shoulders. The veins in his neck looked ready to pop. “ _Who is responsible for this?!_ ” 

Ford swallowed. “It's my fault, sir, I'm sorry. I got in too deep.” 

“ _Hand. Over. The whistle, boy!_ ” 

Ford reluctantly pulled the whistle over his head and held it out, his eyes cast down. Mr. Poolcheck grabbed it, ripped the string with his bare hands, and then rammed the whistle into his mouth. He chewed it, string and all. 

Ford slowly backed away. 

He turned and headed out of the pool gates. He wished Fiddleford was there, but he'd decided to stay home and unwind. Mabel had come in with him, though, saying that she had business with Bud and would only be a minute. But he didn't feel like waiting for her inside. Not when he'd have to explain that he got fired to – 

_Splat._

He jumped. A water balloon had hit him square in the face. 

“Hey doofus,” Seandra said, standing in front of him and waving. “Guess what? I just got fired.” 

“What? Why?” 

“I _may_ have printed that expose about Mr. Poolcheck, and it _may_ have had a little more truth than was tactful.” 

“Ah.” He fiddled with his jacket. “So...you're not a lifeguard anymore?” 

“Nope! But I did get published in the paper, check it out!” She held up a copy of the _Gravity Falls Gossiper_. Page 7 had an article entitled “Mr. Poolcheck has Checked Out”, right next to another article called “Heroic Teen Saves Young Boy.” 

Ford did a quick scan of the second article, remembering how Stanley had looked when Seandra dragged him out of the water. 

“Um,” he said. “By the way...thanks for saving my brother.” 

She shrugged, tucking away the paper. “No worries, dude. Where is he, anyway?” 

“His girlfriend's house. He and Carla decided to just set out the sprinklers instead of going to the pool. And he mentioned something about unlimited amounts of ice cream.” 

“Now _that_ sounds like a great idea.” Seandra grinned. “You wanna go get some frozen artificially flavored dairy product?” 

He smiled back. “Love to! I'm just waiting for –”

“Hey, kiddos!” 

Grauntie Mabel walked up to them, smiling happily. “Nice work yesterday there, Seandra. Just had to take care of a few things back there with Bud Gleeful.” She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder. 

Ford grimaced. “Do I _wanna_ know?” 

“I just gave him a duck floaty and told him to be careful if he went swimming.” 

Seandra and Ford stared at her, surprised. 

“And...that's it?” Ford asked. 

“What?” Mabel said defensively. “I'm a nice arch enemy! Besides, no matter how much we don't get along, he's still a little kid, and I wouldn't want to see him get hurt. Like you and Stan.” She attempted to ruffle his hair and nearly squashed his head into his shoulders. “Now,” she said, smiling even more broadly, “Did I hear someone mention frozen dairy products?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I write these things in a word document. I struggled to write the first four pages for three days...and then I wrote literally 25 pages the following day. It was AWESOME. 
> 
> For those interested, I sort of wrote a whole song just for this episode. It's not anything epic, but it's not that bad either, and I'm putting it here for anyone interested in it. (Yes, I used some of the lines out of order in the story. I tried to choose the lines that had the most emotional impact, the ones that resonated the most with canon Stan's past. I hope it came across alright!)
> 
> The horizon draws its endless line  
> Around a world of blue and brine,  
> And the sailor sets his course by star,   
> To flee a past that left a scar. 
> 
> Sailor, tell me why you weep,   
> Are you so lost, your debts so steep?  
> There is a home for you with me,   
> Under the waves, beneath the sea. 
> 
> Sail, sailor, mile by mile  
> For the never-ending shore.   
> Or stay, sailor, stay a while   
> And all my treasures will be yours. 
> 
> I understand your inmost soul,  
> I know what gift will make you whole.  
> So come and join me in the tide,  
> I promise I'll stay by your side. 
> 
> Sail, sailor, mile by mile  
> For the never-ending shore.   
> Or stay, sailor, stay a while   
> And all my treasures will be yours. 
> 
> Sail, sailor, mile by mile  
> For the never-ending shore.   
> Or stay, sailor, stay a while   
> And all my treasures will be yours.


	10. The Deep End Short

Ford woke up to screaming. 

He flailed, disoriented, until his hand hit the backboard and jolted him fully awake. He sat up with a gasp and looked around. 

Stan was on the floor, sitting up slowly and rubbing the back of his head. He groaned. 

“Man, that suuuucked,” he muttered. 

“Bad dream?” Ford asked, putting on his glasses. 

Stan squinted at him. “Are there supposed to be two of you?” 

“Sure, but the other one only has five fingers,” he joked. Stanley groaned again. Ford started to get worried. What if Stanley had a concussion? He'd only fallen two feet, but still, those could be dangerous. “Maybe we should get Grauntie Mabel.” 

Stanley shook his head and winced. “Ow. No way, bet she's passed out by now.” 

“Your screaming probably woke her,” Ford pointed out. 

They listened, waiting for her to come pounding up the stairs. But aside from the usual creaks and drips, the house was silent. 

Ford sat back. “Wow, she must sleep like a rock.” 

Stan lay back down, moving gingerly like he was made of glass, grimacing when his head touched the floor. “Ugh. I give up on life. Wake me when I'm dead.”

Ford raised an eyebrow. “You're not actually going to sleep like that, are you?” 

Stan continued to lay on the floor. 

_Okay_ , Ford thought. He swung his feet over the edge of the bed and stood up, stretching and yawning. He looked around for the fishing line, grabbed it from the laundry basket (everything _but_ laundry ended up in there) and started tying it to the ends to their bedposts. 

Stan sat up slowly and watched him. It was definitely weird that Stan was being so quiet. 

“You gonna help or what?” Ford asked. He saw Stanley start to get up and wince. “Forget it, stay put.” 

He strung the line so it went directly over where Stanley was lying. Then he pulled his constellation quilt off of his bed, and Stanley's boat quilt off of his, and threw them over the line. He weighted the corners down with a few heavier objects – a stack of books, Stan's voice distorter, whatever he could find. Then he grabbed the lantern and the pillows off their beds and crawled inside. 

Stanley was still lying on the floor, but now he was staring up at their blankets and grinning like he'd just won an eating contest and was debating who to puke on. _Now_ that's _more like Stan_ , Ford thought, pleased with himself. 

“Okay, shadow puppet time,” Ford said, clicking on the light. 

“Really? We haven't done that in forever.” 

“Then we're overdue. I'll go first, 'kay?” And he twisted his fingers together. A beautiful mermaid appeared on the sail of the boat on Stan's blanket. “Tada! Here comes a beautiful and beguiling princess of the sea.” 

“Yeah, no. Hang on.” Stanley lifted his own hands and made the profile of a pirate appear, hat and all. “ _Arrgh, getcher stinkin' fish scales outta my ocean, arrgh._ ” 

“Behold!” Ford wiggled his digits and the mermaid turned into a kraken. “'Twas not a mermaid at all, but a creature most foul – a vile monster from the ocean depths, a _kraken!_ ” 

“Now you're talkin'!” 

They played like that until their arms got tired. Stan's pirate ate the kraken, which erupted from the pirate's stomach, so an army of foot bots was summoned from the future, which made the kraken explode into a bunch of little krakens, but then the pirate came back to life and decided to cook them all before eating them to make sure that they'd stay dead. It was a lot of fun, and Stanley's color was back to normal by the end, and both of them were wrestling and messing up each other's hair and laughing. 

When they finally fell asleep, Stan had an arm wrapped around Ford. Their foreheads were touching, and they smiled as if sharing the same dream. 

 

 _“THAT'S SO SWEET I JUST GOT NINE CAVITIES.”_

_Ford startled awake – or at least he thought he did, but he was lying on a crumpled blanket back in that starry place where he'd first seen Bill. Dreamland? Landscape? Mindscape?_

_“Bill? What're you doing here? I didn't read the incantation.”_

_The triangle floated in front of him, shaking his head – well, his whole body – with disgust. “YOU ALREADY DID, SO NOW I GET DRAGGED BACK HERE EVERY TIME YOU FALL ASLEEP. YOU DIDN'T FIGURE THAT OUT? AND HERE I THOUGHT YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE THE SMART TWIN.”_

_“I – I am smart!”_

_“SURE, KID. WELL, JUST 'CUZ YOU SUMMONED ME, DOESN'T MEAN I HAVE TO STAY.” He waved his hand and a swirling wormhole opened up._

_“Wait,” Ford said quickly. “I, uh...why did the author call you a monster?”_

_“BECAUSE I_ AM _ONE.” Bill turned back to him. “ANYTHING DIFFERENT, ANYTHING THAT PEOPLE DON'T UNDERSTAND – FROM FRANKENSTEIN TO GALILEO – IS VIEWED AS A MONSTROSITY. LIKE I SAID BEFORE, I FIGURED YOU OF ALL PEOPLE WOULD KNOW SOMETHING ABOUT_ THAT.”

_Ford hid his hands. He thought reflexively about the chess set and it popped into view. The pieces started changing into bullies again – but Bill cut his cane through it and it vanished like smoke._

_“So,” Ford said slowly, “if you're not actually, you know, evil...what do you do, exactly?”_

_“I'M A MUSE! I FIND ONE GREAT MIND A CENTURY AND INSPIRE HIM TO GREATNESS. I TRIED TO DO THAT FOR THE AUTHOR, BUT HE WASN'T AS RECEPTIVE AS YOU.”_

_“What do you mean, 'inspire to greatness'?”_

_“JUST WHAT I SAID, KID!” Bill spread his arms. The books floating around them opened to show moving pictures of famous scientists, discovering or inventing the things that changed the world. Galileo, Heisenberg, Einstein, Telsa, Sagan, Muhammad Ibn Musa Al-Khwarizmi – the pantheon of great minds lay open before him. Ford watched them, awed. Had Bill inspired_ all _of them?_

_“YOU'VE GOT BIG THINGS IN YOUR FUTURE, FORDSY,” Bill said. Then he snapped his fingers, and suddenly all the books slammed shut. “BUT NOT WITHOUT ME.”_

_Ford frowned at him, still cautious. He'd been depending on that journal all summer, and so far, all the information on magical creatures had been pretty accurate. Why would it suddenly be wrong about Bill? And yet, what Bill was saying about being a monster sort of made sense. He needed more information._

_“The Author studied magical creatures,” he said carefully. “Is that what you are? Magical?”_

_“TRY A HIGHER LIFE FORM! UNLIKE YOU ONE-LIFESPAN MEAT PUPPETS, I'M AN INTERDIMENSIONAL BEING OF PURE ENERGY WITH NO WEAKNESS AND LITERALLY LIMITLESS KNOWLEDGE!”_

_The whole mindscape seemed to implode, and suddenly light and color and sound when whooshing past him, as if Ford was standing in a wind tunnel. He gasped, instinctively raising his arms._

_It was like standing in the internet. Hundreds of thousands of pieces of information went shooting past so quickly he could only catch glimpses – volcanoes, twin suns, gophers in space suits, asteroids, people, voices, alien constellations. And equations. Equations with symbols Ford had never even seen before, flying so fast they actually sparked when they rubbed against each other._

_“Wow!”_

_“NOW YOU'RE GETTIN' IT, KID!”_

_Suddenly an equation whizzed passed – but it seemed to hover for an infinitesimal fraction of a second, long enough for Ford's photographic memory to record it. A quivering, slightly out-of-focus version of it appeared in front of him as he remembered it._

_“Is – is that what I think it is? Is that seriously an equation for proving –”_

_“WAKE UP AND TEST IT, SIXER!”_

Ford jolted awake. His body felt like an electric charge was humming along his nerves. He had to know – he had to know _right now_ if that equation was for real. 

He shot out of the Fort, grabbed the journal, and rushed from the room. He had to get to the lab. Imagine what Fiddleford would say if Ford actually proved the existence of a _multiverse!_

 

The morning sun crept slowly into the attic room. The newly minted light fell on the side of Fort Stan, which had been partly torn from the fishing line as its inhabitant rolled around in his sleep. 

Stanley thrashed around a little longer before he woke up, shivering. Apparently sleeping in Fort Stan hadn't been enough to keep that stupid nightmare away...or that ugly laughter from ringing in his ears. His stomach hurt and he felt weirdly cold. He reached out his hands, his eyes still closed. 

“Ford?” he mumbled. “Ford, bro, quit hoggin' the blanket...” 

His hands touched air and wood floor. He opened his eyes. Ford was gone.


	11. Carpet Diem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHAAAT? But Boyz Crazy is supposed to come first! 
> 
> Yes, I promise that will be the next episode. But I have certain plans which necessitated the switch. That being said, I promise more fluff, stangst, and canon-based adventures on the way!

“Do the jackolope, do the jackolope!” 

Ford twisted his fingers and the shadow of a jackolope appeared on the blanket. Stanley laughed as he made it bounce. 

“Oh, man! You are _so_ good at this!” 

“It helps to have an extra finger,” Ford said, grinning and wiggling his pinkies. The jackolope did a little jig. 

Stanley had created a mega-version of Fort Stan – a big tent with a smaller tent inside with two tunnels leading into the smaller tent. He'd even booby-trapped the tunnels with fly paper, rotting cheese, and a Mabel Casserole that even Gompers wouldn't eat. The smaller tent was loaded with supplies: blankets, snacks, books, a deck of cards, and a lantern, which they were currently using to make shadow puppets. Ford knew he should be working on that equation, but he couldn't resist. Weren't scientists supposed to take breaks anyway? 

Stanely did something with his fingers and made a Sasscrotch that came to eat the jackalope. Ford laughed. 

“Hey, let's do that one of Waddles eating Ria,” he said. But the doorbell rang and Stanley jumped to his feet, ducking so he wouldn't knock over the tent. 

“Whups! Gotta go, bro!” 

“What? Why?” 

Ford followed Stanley as he crawled out of the tent. “Because! I gotta go hang out with Roman and Gordo tonight!” 

“Oh, what?” They crawled out of the tunnel and stood up. “But we were right in the middle of shadow puppets! You're the one who wanted to play! You can't leave mid-puppet!” 

“Don't be silly, I'm not leaving!” Stanley said, grabbing Gompers off his bed and wiggling his front feet. “My friends are coming to _me!_ ” 

“Wha...” Ford looked around the room in dawning horror. “Voice distorters? Illegal fireworks? _A drum kit?!_ Where did you – please tell me you're not having a –”

Their bedroom door burst open. Roman and Gordo charged in, firing Nyarf guns with caps glued to the bullets. Ford yelped and dove for cover as the bullets exploded all over the room. 

Roman grinned and yelled, “SLEEPOVER!” 

 

“DO IT DO IT DO IT!” Stanley shouted. Ford heard Roman paw at the ground for effect as Gordo pounded on the drums for a drumroll. Stan and Roman charged at each other head-first. Their helmets hit so hard Ford was sure he heard one of them crack, even through the pillow he was holding over his head. 

“DUDE!” Gordo shouted. “Go get Gompers! We can head-butt a professional!” 

“YEAH!” 

Ford rolled over. Stanley grabbed Gompers from where he'd settled into the laundry pile. Roman stuck a football helmet on him (Gompers bleated indifferently) and Stanley raised him into the air and marched around the room. “ALL HAIL THE MIGHTY GOMPERS! BUTTER OF HEADS! HEADER OF BUTTS!” 

“OH MAN I WANT BUTTER!” Roman shouted. “We need buttered popcorn STAT!” 

The three of them immediately started chanting. “BUT-TER! BUT-TER! BUT-TER!” 

Ford snapped. “Can you guys knock it off?” he growled, sitting up. “You guys are so loud you're gonna break the sound barrier! I'm trying to sleep here!” 

Stanley rolled his eyes. “Chill out, Captain Buzzkill.” 

Roman grinned evilly. “You know what your brother needs?” 

A matching grin lit Gordo's face. “I do indeed! A FART ATTACK!” 

All three of them turned and farted at once. The fumes hit Ford in the face and he yelled and ran from the room. 

He stopped once he'd reached the bottom of the stairs, gasping and holding his nose. “I didn't even know you _could_ fart on cue,” he muttered. “Science, why have you betrayed me?” 

Ria walked past him. “Oh hello, Stanford.” 

Ford didn't even question what she was still doing there at 9 pm at night. “Ria, can I use your break room tonight?” 

“Oh, sure!” She led him down the hall and opened a door. It led right into a closet-sized space filled with red-hot pipes that hissed steam at the joints. “You just have to make your body fold up like a video game character,” she explained, and demonstrated. “The trick is to hold perfectly still!” 

Ford stared at her dubiously. “What happens if you move?” 

“This!” She lowered her left hand a fraction of an inch and it touched a hot pipe. The metal hissed and she flinched. “Ow.” 

“ _That's_ your break room?” Ford said, shaking his head. “I think I'll sleep outside tonight.” 

He grabbed a spare blanket and a cushion from Grauntie Mabel's chair and headed outside. The grass was already wet with condensation, but at least the dirt under the totem pole would be dry. He settled down, drawing the blanket over himself and lying on his back so he could stare at the sky. 

He sighed. “Sleeping under the stars,” he murmured to himself. “Not bad, not bad...” He sort of snuggled his head into the pillow and closed his eyes. 

A moment later a growling noise reached his ears. He frowned and sat up. 

A wolf was chewing on his leg! 

He yelped and waved at it madly, trying to scare it off. “Get off, get off, get away!” he shouted. The beast growled and dug its teeth into his flesh. 

Suddenly a loud bang reached his ears and he looked up. Stan and his friends were apparently setting off fireworks indoors. 

He looked back at the wolf. “This is still better,” he grumbled, and lay back down. 

The wolf gnawed at his shin in agreement. 

 

Morning dawned painfully bright, the way it always did after eating too much sugar and passing out in a sugar coma. Stanley sat up with a groan, shoving Gompers' butt off his face. 

Something caught his eye and he looked up at the ceiling. 

“Dude!” 

“What's up, Stan?” Gordo said, grinning at him and waving his fingers. Somehow he'd been duck-taped to the wooden beams. 

“Did we do that?” 

Gordo wiggled his head in what might've been a shrug. “Dunno.” 

“Well then I claim full credit because _that_ is quality pranking!” 

The bedroom door creaked open and Roman stepped out, his skin covered in permanent-marker tattoos. Most of them looked like a kid's attempt to draw pirates and bad words, but instead looked more like badly drawn fairies and hamburgers. “I don't know how I managed to draw these in the dark, but I have no regrets!” 

The tape came unglued and Gordo promptly fell off the ceiling. 

Stanley got up, grinning. “That was _awesome_ , dudes. We gotta do this again soon.” 

“You wanna do it tonight?” Roman asked. “Actually, forget I asked. We're gonna show up whether you want us to or not!” 

Stanley laughed and shoved them both out of his room. 

His brother walked in after them, looking all baggy-eyed and grumpy like he'd stayed up all night reading. Plus some scratches and a nice shiner. He flopped onto his bed with a grown. 

“'Sup, Sixer?”

“Stanley, last night an owl tried to eat my tongue.” 

“A maraca owl?” 

“Who cares?!” Ford chucked the blanket he'd been carrying at Stan. Stan dodged and it hit the laundry basket. 

“Score!” 

“Focus, Stanley!” Ford gestured angrily to the room. “Look at this place!” 

There were burn marks all over the ceiling, a mustard mural painted over Stanley's bed, sock puppets made of dirty gym socks and stale pepperoni glued on with toothpaste (which Gompers was currently trying to eat), and pizza slices shoved into the tube of the old-timey record player standing in a corner of their room. Stanley grinned at it proudly. 

“Pretty neat, huh?” 

“No it is not neat it is the _opposite_ of neat!” Ford barked. “This – this is just impossible to live with!” 

“Whaaat? This is like, the best version of our bedroom _ever!_ Except for the fireworks,” he added. “Mabel confiscated those and we haven't been able to find them.” 

“Who cares about the fireworks? You've completely destroyed our room!” Suddenly Ford gasped and jumped off the bed. Stanley followed his gaze. 

The Ultimate Fort Stan had been reduced to flannel rubble, the blankets torn down and shredded, the supplies either missing or chewed on by Gompers. 

Ford picked up a corner of a blanket, frowning. “Our Fort Stan!” 

Stanley chuckled. “Yeah, Roman and Gordo sure like wrecking things.” 

Ford threw down the blanket. “Stanley, you need to follow the rules for living in this room! First of all, no sleepovers!” 

Stanley growled. He _hated_ rules! “FINE!” he shouted. “If I don't get sleepovers, you don't get to keep me up all night with your 'summer reading'!”

“How does _reading_ keep you up?!” 

“Uh, clicking a pen a million times a minute?!” Stanley shot back, pointing at the box of broken pens next to Ford's bed. “Plus all the times you keep talking out loud about how you know the book is going to end!” 

“Well at least my teeth don't whistle when I breathe!” Ford snapped, pointing at Stanley's missing tooth. 

“Well at least _I_ don't do weird experiments in the microwave so everything we put in there tastes like foot fungus!” 

“I've gotta do experiments if I'm going to be a famous scientist!” 

“Beep boop!” Stanley said, moving his arms like a robot. “I AM A NERD ROBOT! That's you, that's what you sound like!” 

Ford's lip pulled back in a snarl. “If you do that again, _one more time –_ ”

“BEEP BOOP BOP!” 

“FINE!” Ford shouted. “That's it, that's the final straw! Maybe we just shouldn't share a room anymore!” 

Hot and cold chills rippled through Stan's chest. 

“Well – well maybe we shouldn't!” he said angrily, clenching his fists. Gompers bleated and started chewing on Stan's knuckles. 

“Fine by me!” 

“ _Double_ fine by me!” 

Ford set his jaw. “Then we need to talk to Grauntie Mabel about switching rooms. Let's go.” He stomped out of the room. 

Stanley stomped right behind him. Who cared anyway, huh? Not him. He hated his stupid attic bedroom. He hated bedrooms in general. 

 

Ford marched into the living room, Stanley on his heels. Grauntie Mabel was watching one of her sappy romance soaps again, egging on the characters and chanting, “Cry! Cry! Cry!” As if they could hear her, two characters immediately began sobbing their hearts out. 

“Grauntie Mabel, we want different rooms!” Ford announced. 

She snorted. “And I want a pair of magic sparkly money pants,” she said. “It ain't gonna happen.” 

“Oooh, money pants,” Stanley murmured. 

Ford's mouth twisted. Why couldn't his brother ever stay focused? “C'mon, Grauntie Mabel, can't we work something out?” 

She leaned back in the chair and crossed her legs. “Look, kid, there's my room and the attic, that's it. What, you think there's some kinda secret, hidden room in the Shack?” 

_CRASH!_

“Dude!” Ria's voice called. “I found some kind of secret, hidden room in the Shack!” 

Ford and Stanley glanced at each other, smiling. 

A minute later, Ford, Stan, and Mabel were all assembled in a downstairs level of the Shack (which Ford didn't really understand, since it wasn't exactly a basement, but not high enough to be ground level, either). A short set of stairs led down to a sort of storage room. A book case had been pulled aside to reveal an ornately carved door of redwood. 

Ria gestured to it. “Alright, so I was cleaning up behind this bookcase, when boom! Mystery Door!” 

“Is this gonna be like the time we found the wax guys?” Stanley asked, eyeing the door. 

“I don't know,” Ria said. “This old Shack is full of weird secrets.” She reached out, turned the knob, and pushed open the door. 

It led into some kind of study. There was a large, painfully ugly blue rug on the floor, a deflated orange couch, a large table with beakers and oil containers on top, a desk with a small glass prism on its corner, and several small end tables laden with lamps, clocks, and, of course, dust. The whole place was thick with it, and the walls laced with cobwebs thicker than Ria's doilies. An actual rat ran across the carpet, skittering and squeaking as it disappeared under the couch. 

“Whoa-ho,” Ford said, as he and Stanley walked in. 

“Classy,” Stan said. He went over to draw a happy face with horns on the nearest table. 

Ford walked past a calendar hanging on the wall and paused, frowning at it. There was a picture of an owl, but what was interesting was the date: 1982. For some reason that seemed significant, like he'd seen that year somewhere in the Shack before. For some reason he started thinking about eating breakfast. 

Stanley had gone over to the only window in the room. It was thin, rectangular, with several circles of red stained glass set into the middle. Stanley drew a different emoji in each one, then tried to blow dust off the pyramid on the desk. He stood to close and it blew into his face. He backed up, coughing. 

Ford ignored him and knelt – something had caught his eye on the carpet. Aside from the gaudy color, the rug had a circular design made of two spiraling arrows in the center, but tha wasn't what had caught his eye. He lifted the label on the rug's edge. 

“'Experiment 78'?” he read. That didn't look like a typical ' _Wash with like colors'_ label to him. “Grauntie Mabel, what is this place?” 

He turned, and could've sworn he saw her swipe something off an end table. “I dunno,” she grumbled. “Just another room I gotta clean up now.” 

“Hey look! I'm making Dust Angels!” said Stanley, waving his arms and legs in the center of the rug. “Awesome, right?” 

“Yeah, if yer into things that're terrible,” she grumbled, heading out of the room. 

Ford shook his head. What is it with his family? It was like he was the only one interested in anything remotely mysterious. 

Stanley giggled, poking under the couch for the rat. 

Scratch that: the only one interested in anything mysterious _and intelligent._

He turned away, annoyed, and caught sight of a key hanging on the wall by the door. He grabbed it with a smile. “Problem solved! I'll move in here!” 

Stanley sat up, frowning. “Why should you get this room? I saw it first!” 

Mabel poked her head back in. “Wait a second...so you both want the room, huh?” She walked in and snatched the key from Ford's hand, looking it over like it was an interesting new bauble she could display in the Museum. “Hmmm...I guess I'll give it to whichever one of you sucks up more.” 

“What?” Ford yelped. 

She bent down and pulled her right shoelace. The bow came undone. “Uh-oh, looks like my shoe's untied!” 

Ford and Stanley looked at each other. Then they both dove for her shoe, fighting to tie her shoelace. Ford had the upper hand with his extra fingers, but Stanley kept shoving him away. 

Mabel laughed. “To the kitchen!” she cried, and dashed out the door. 

Ford and Stanley leaped to their feet and raced after her, but Ria jumped in front of them as they reached the doorway. 

“Just a minute, chiquitos,” she said. “This room is already causing problems between you. You never fought over sharing a room before, and the attic is a very nice place. Maybe you two should be satisfied with what you have.” 

Ford glanced at Stan. Then he shot past Ria like a mentos from a soda bottle. Stanley, right on his heels, tried to trip him as they pounded up the stairs. 

“Give it up, Stanley!” Ford shouted. 

“Forget it!” Stan yelled back. “That room is mine!” 

 

Stan stood with his brother in the kitchen, each of them digging their elbows into each other's ribs. 

Mabel held up the key and they snapped to attention. 

“Alright, kids, here's how it's gonna go down,” she said. “Whoever sucks up the hardest gets the key to the new room!” 

Ford frowned. “Grauntie Mabel we're not gonna suck up to –”

“YEAH WE ARE!” Stanley shouted, giving her the cheesiest grin he could manage. 

“Ten suck-up points for Stanley!” 

“Uh, I mean – yeah we are?” 

“Weak comeback. Minus ten suck-up points.” 

“Good decision, Graunite Mabel!” Stan said cheerfully. 

“Good comeback! Plus fifty suck-up points!” 

“What?!” Ford yelped. 

Stanley snickered. Apparently Mister Genius had just found another thing Stan did better than him – and now Stan was gonna get a room to himself for it! 

“Now...” Grauntie Mabel held up a bucket of roof tiles. “Who wants to go retile the roof in searing 105 degree heat?” 

Stan froze. 

“I'LL DO IT!” Ford shouted, grabbing the bucket. 

“HEY!” 

Stanley chased after his brother, trying to grab him as he darted around the yard, keeping that stupid bucket out of reach. 

“Give it back, Ford!” 

“Forget it, that room is mine!” 

“In a goat's eye!” 

“You don't even like heights!” 

“YOU GIMME THAT BUCKET RIGHT NOW OR I'LL KILL YOU!” 

 

After they'd retiled the roof (together, trying to sabotage each other's work the whole time), Grauntie Mabel had them repainting the whole Shack, shining the trash cans, and finally polishing the lawn. 

Stan could tell Ford was starting to get tired. He kept panting and wheezing and sweating even more than usual. 

“Stanford, you're phoning it in!” Mabel trilled from the porch. Ford huffed and mowed the lawn a little harder, but Stan knew it wouldn't be long before his brother dropped like a sack of inch-thick library books. He grinned to himself. _Stan's Man Cave, here I come!_

He was right: Ford gave up mowing the lawn exactly three minutes later, so Grauntie Mabel sent him inside to fix the sink. Stanley figured the best way to top that was to get the golf cart running like new – thanks to working on his car and tips from Ria, he knew a lot about car engines. In ten minutes, he had the thing purring like Waddles after a bag of pig treats. He even painted the canvas top in bright purple glitter. Mabel was so excited her eyes got all watery and she started hugging the cart. 

That got a little weird, so Stan decided to give her and the cart a moment and headed inside to check out his future lair. He imagined keeping a tank with a miniature dragon in one corner to guard the hoard of treasure he'd find in the woods, and maybe a miniature race car track in the middle of the room, plus maybe a bed shaped like a pirate ship...

When he got there, Ford was already sitting on the couch, rubbing his sweaty sock-covered feet on the shag carpet. 

Stanley shook his head. “Don't get too comfortable, Ford. I just covered Mabel's golf cart in _sparkles_. I'm like a suck-up ninja! This room's as good as mine. You might as well give up now. Whaddaya say?” he asked, holding up his hand to shake. 

Ford had gotten up and was starting to pace around the room, glaring at Stan. “ _I_ say, I'm gonna win this room somehow,” he growled, coming closer. The dude was getting a case of static cling so bad his hair was standing on end. Stanley almost forgot his brother was trying to be all threatening. “And when I do,” Ford continued, “I'll finally have my own space, and we'll never have to share anything, _ever again!_ ” 

He smacked Stan's hand. 

Lightning shot through Stan's body so fast he screamed and a roaring filled his ears. Next thing he knew, he was staring at the ceiling and wondering how he got there. 

He groaned a little, pushing himself to a sitting position. _That_ was static cling? That was like lightning! His chest hurt and his head hurt and he was pretty sure he died for a second or something. 

He rubbed his head, groaning. Something felt weird about that, but then again everything felt weird and hurty right now. 

“What hit me,” Ford muttered from across the room. 

Stanley forced his eyes open, but there was nothing else on the carpet but a mirror. Except there was something weird about that, too. 

His reflection opened his mouth. 

“...Stanley?” 

Stan blinked. “Sixer?” he said cautiously. Why was his brother's mouth coming out of...

He looked down. 

Nerdy pants stained with ink spots...

Stanford's aviator jacket...

He took his hand from his head and stared at it. Six fingers. 

“Am I in your body?” Ford asked numbly. 

“Am I in _your_ body?” Stanley echoed.

For a minute they just stared at each other. Then Stanley took a deep breath. 

“ _AAAAAAAAAAAAH!_ ” 

 

After five minutes of screaming, throwing up in the toilet, screaming, watching Ford rocking in the corner, screaming, punching himself in the gut, screaming, and mostly just generally screaming, Stanley finally accepted the fact that he and Nerdy had switched places. 

They stood in front of a mirror, holding themselves stiffly. 

“Great,” Ford said angrily. “Just what we need, more Gravity Falls weirdness.” 

Stanley kept rubbing at his – Ford's hair. It was so darn poofy it wouldn't cooperate with his coolness. “I thought we were supposed to be twins! Why is your body so sweaty and awkward?!” 

“Excuse _you_ , Mr. Smells-Like-Gas! Both kinds!” 

“At least I don't have Ballpoint Pen Breath!” Stan shot back. 

“Hey look,” Ford said, heading over to the carpet. Stan rolled his eyes. Of course his brother would still be the same science nerd no matter what body he was in. 

Ford peeled back the carpet and held up a label attached to its edge. “'Experiment 78',” he read. “'Electron Carpet'.” He tapped his chin with a pen (where did he even get a pen?). “Atoms can swap electrons. This carpet must build up a static charge so powerful it can switch minds!” He started clicking the pen furiously. “It was the static electricity! I bet we could use it to switch back!” 

Stan let out his breath in a gust, deeply relieved. “Phew! Glad we're switching back. If I were you I would _totally_...” 

Ford looked up when he paused. “Stan?” 

A huge grin was spreading over Stan's face. 

“Uh, Stanley...?” 

“You know what, bro? I just remembered some very urgent business I have to take care of.” He darted for the door. 

“Wait!” Ford leaped forward and tried to grab his jacket, but tripped over Stanley's untied shoes. He hit the floor chin-first. 

Stan paused at the doorway and looked back, still grinning. “Enjoy my muscles while it lasts, bro! I'm gonna paint the town!” 

“What?! What're you – get back here!” Ford shouted after him. “GET BACK HERE STANLEY! I MEANT IT, I'LL MAKE YOU LOSE THE CONTEST!” 

But Stanley just laughed and ran up the stairs and out the front door of the Shack, headed in for town. Who cared about that crummy room? He had some major mayhem to make! 

 

Stanley was long gone by the time Ford got back up to the Shack's ground floor. He huffed in disgust. Fine! With Stanley – in Ford's body – out of the way, all he had to do was make Stanley look as bad as possible and the room was as good as Ford's. 

“GRAUNTIE MABEL!” he shouted. “IT'S ME, STANLEY! I'M DOING THINGS YOU HATE!” 

He swatted a lamp off the nearest table and it shattered. 

“Whoa, neat!” 

Ford turned around. Stanley's friends Roman and Gordo hustled into the living room, wearing huge smiles, mischief gleaming in their eyes. 

“Are we smashing up the house now?” Roman asked. “Is that are new thing? Because I am _definitely_ good with that.” 

Ford smiled slowly. “Absolutely, guys,” he said confidently. “This old Shack could use some redecorating anyway. Let's go crazy!”

 

“Haha, this is so cool!” Stanley grinned, strolling down the street. “Now everyone's gonna think I'm the smart, polite twin. I can sucker them all and not even get blamed for it!” 

He decided to start with the library since, if he was playing Ford, that's exactly where Ford would go. He jogged up the stairs (then decided not to try that again, Ford was even more out of shape than Stanley had thought). He pushed open the front door and went right up to the desk. 

“Hi I'm looking for a book,” he said loudly. 

The librarian smiled at him. “Good to see you, Stanford,” she said. She was actually kind of cute when she wasn't yelling at him to keep it down. “Are you here for that new Tesla book I ordered?” 

“YES THAT'S RIGHT,” Stanley shouted, and she winced but still didn't see anything. He grinned. This getting-away-with-stuff-because-people-like-you was easier than he'd thought! 

She left for a minute and came back with the book. 

“Oops, I forgot my library card,” Stanley said. 

Her lips got all pruny for a second, then she smiled. “Well, I suppose I can make an exception, just this once,” she said, and he grabbed the book out of her hands and raced out the door before she could change her mind – or see the twelve other books he'd stuffed in Ford's jacket. 

He chuckled to himself, pulling book after book from the jacket. He held it in a stack in front of him. The perfect nerd-camouflage! Every grown-up _loved_ to see a genius smart boy. He bet if he went into a restaurant and looked like he was studying, they'd coo and give him all the free food he wan– 

“NERD!” 

Someone punched his back and he went sprawling, half the books getting dumped into the street. He staggered to his feet. 

A couple numbskulls stood in front of him, both of them scowling like he'd just shaved their pet cat. 

“What's a loser like you doing out on _our_ street?” the red-haired one demanded. “I thought I told you last time to get lost!” 

“Yeah!” said the other one. He smiled nastily, showing a mouth full of mossy teeth. “What, you doing summer school or something? You tryin' ta make the rest of us look bad?” 

“With a mouth like that, buddy, you do that on your own,” Stanley snapped. 

Mossy Teeth's face turned purple and he grabbed the front of Ford's jacket. 

“Back off,” Stanley shouted, and shoved him away. Mossy Teeth hadn't been expecting it and let go, taking a step back – and then stared. 

“You're a freak!” 

Stan frowned. “What?” 

Red Hair grabbed Stan's wrist and yanked him off-balance, dragging him forward. 

“Hey!” 

“Check it out, nerd's got an extra digit!” Red Hair squealed. He grabbed Stan's – Ford's – extra finger and yanked on it, hard, bending it backwards. 

Stan's face went white. “Ow! Stop it!” 

“This thing real?” Mossy Teeth asked gleefully. “Oh, man, this freak's like a mutant or something! Bet he's another species!” 

Stan's face went dark red with rage. He stomped hard on Red Hair's foot. The bully yelped and let go. 

That should've been Stan's cue to get out of there, but those stupid idiots weren't really picking on Stanley. They were picking on Ford. 

He bared his teeth and launched himself at them like a rabid gnome. 

 

Ford sat cross-legged on his bedroom floor with Stanley's friends. After they'd smashed up the living room and broke practically every mug in the kitchen, they'd retreated upstairs to plot the Ultimate Prank. 

“Dang, Stanley, I thought you weren't ever gonna come around,” Gordo said, looking up from the blueprints Ford had laid out. “You always acted like this Shack was, like, off-limits to all things cool.” 

“Not today!” Ford pointed to the layout of the ground floor of the Shack. “If we hide the marshmallows here, Waddles will literally break down the wall to get them. The prank practically pulls itself!” 

“Yeeeah,” Roman said slowly. “But can't we hide 'em behind the bookshelf? We could put fire crackers on the top shelf, and when the pig knocks it over the prank just keeps on going!” 

“No way, that's where my – uh, my brother's books are. He'd hate that.” 

Roman and Gordo rolled their eyes. For a minute Ford thought he'd said something out of character. Then Gordo sighed. 

“Yep, that's Stan,” he said. “Look, kid, I know you're, like, the master of pranks, and it's seriously cool that we're messing up the Shack. But if you wanna be hardcore like us, you gotta learn that _everybody's_ a target.” 

Ford frowned. “What does _that_ mean?” 

“Forget it.” Roman reached over and thumped him on the back, too hard. Ford resisted the urge to squirm away. “You're really on fire with these plans here, Stan. We should make a list of the stuff we need.” 

“I can get ahold of the marshmallows,” Gordo offered. 

“Great. I got the rubber bands and the silly string,” Roman said. 

They looked expectantly at Ford. 

It suddenly hit him that he'd be actually engineering the rather magnificent destruction of the Shack. He still wanted to make Stanley look as bad as possible, but...he didn't actually want to hurt Grauntie Mabel. She hadn't done anything. Heck, she never even complained when he did experiments in the microwave – even the time he'd accidentally blew up a piece of fudge that had her name on it in actual glitter glue. Maybe he could pull a prank or two, but this was a whole different level, and he wasn't sure he wanted to do it. 

Roman and Gordo were still staring at him, and there was something in their faces that made him nervous. He expected himself to start sweating any minute, but he was in Stanley's body, so he didn't. 

He kept a cool expression on his face. “Yeah, you know what? This stuff's stupid. Why are we sneaking around the Shack when we could be out in the yard making tons of noise all day long?” 

Gordo looked disgusted, but Roman stroked his chin, intrigued. “I'm listening,” he said slowly. “What kind of ear-piercing mayhem did you have in mind?” 

Ford held back a sigh of relief and quickly presented a less destructive alternative. He wasn't sure he could've made them change his mind in his old body, but in Stan's, with the extra muscle and his apparent lack of sweat glands, being persuasive was a piece of cake. He had to admit, Stan's body was pretty cool. 

 

Ford's body sucked. 

He had arms like limp noodles, and so much for those stupid six fingers. Turns out having an extra knuckle in a fight didn't keep the other guy from pounding your face flat. 

He'd given Mossy Teeth and Fat Kid some real nice shiners, but they'd paid him back in full. He remembered from boxing that he'd need some ice, and fast, or Ford's face would swell up like a balloon. He headed for the nearest restaurant. Some fast-food joint called O'Donald's. He'd never been there before, but it was basically a knock-off of some other chain restaurant. 

The door dinged as he stepped in. The cashier lady looked up and winced. 

“Ooh, kid, what happened to you?” she asked. “You tried to turn yourself into a hamburger?” 

“Can I get a cup of ice?” he asked. 

“Sure, sure.” She turned around, grabbed a plastic cup, and jammed it under the drink dispenser. When it was full of ice, she held it out. 

“Thanks,” he said, and reached to take it. 

He saw it – the way she pulled back, how her eyes went wide, her upper lip twitched like she'd just seen something disgusting. For a split second Stan actually forgot he was Ford and thought she was curling her lip at _him_ – and then she saw where he was looking and his eyes went cold. 

He didn't thank her. He just grabbed the cup in his six-fingered hand and left. 

 

Ford couldn't stop giggling. 

“Shut up already,” Gordo whispered, but he was giggling, too. 

They were hiding in the bushes at the edge of the Shack's lawn, literally waiting for the fireworks to start. Ford had found the fireworks Mabel confiscated from last night's sleepover, but since most of them were damp, he rigged his own with a bag of her glitter and ingredients from the kitchen. He'd arranged them in a spiral pattern on the grass. He even rigged the fuses so that they'd set each other off in a massive chain reaction that would create the brightest, messiest lawn fireworks of all time. 

Roman had already lit the first fuse and they were counting down on his stopwatch. “Okay,” he said gleefully, his eyes glued to the glowing digits. “Ten seconds...nine...eight...” 

A screeching noise made Ford look up. A busload of tourists had pulled up on the lawn and were starting to disembark – right in the middle of the fireworks. 

“Oh no – wait, wait!” Ford said. 

Gordo grinned. “Are you kidding?! This is gonna be _awesome!_ ” 

“But they're standing to close to be –”

“...two – _one!_ ” 

The first fireworks went off right next to the bus and the tourists leaped away, yelling with fright. They huddled in the middle of the lawn like scared bunnies while firework after firework went off in a huge spiral, sending streams of glitter shooting into the air where homemade “pop rocks” exploded in balls of white light. 

Ford jumped out of the bush without thinking and sprinted straight for the garden hose. The spiral ended exactly where the tourists were standing, and he only had maybe four seconds before – 

There was a shriek of pain and the tourists scattered as the mother load of fireworks literally blew up on the ground. More fireworks shot into the air with a hiss and came back down to roll madly among the crowd. 

Ford reached the hose, twisted it the nozzle, and a massive spray of water shot out of the sprinkler head, soaking the guests in two seconds flat. The last of the fireworks, including those that weren't lit yet, fizzled out with a meek whine. 

Grauntie Mabel chose that moment to burst out of the Shack, her face white as a sheet. “What happened, what happened?” she asked shrilly. “Is everyone alright?” 

For a split second everybody just stood frozen in place. Ford knew there were two ways this could go: either the tourists could get mad and sue the pants off of them, or they could think it was part of the show. 

Well, if tourists were gullible enough to buy into the Sasscrotch, they could definitely buy into _this._

He stepped forward, flung his arms wide, and shouted with as much Stan-ness as he could: “WELCOME, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, TO THE MYSTERY SHACK! Home of the Sasscrotch, the Corn-Icorn, and the exploding sparkle fairies that live in our lawn! Five bucks apiece for pictures of the fairy habitat – and this is a limited-time offer, as the tour is set to begin in five minutes! Do _you_ have what it takes to catch a fairy on film?” 

Instantly the crowd began squealing with delight and stuffing five-dollar bills into Mabel's hands. 

“Thank you, thank you!” she said, grinning widely, and turned to Ford the moment they were all off snapping pictures. “You wanna explain what the jeckle just happened?” 

“Um...testing out a new exhibit?” Ford said. 

She scowled at him. “Well from now on...charge _fifty_ dollars a picture!” She smacked him lightly in the back of the head and went to start the tour. 

“Dang, dog, I thought you were busted for sure.” 

Ford jumped. Roman and Gordo stood right behind him, watching the crowd. 

“You know, for a guy who's suddenly interested in fireworks, you sure know how to put a damper on the party,” Gordo said, nodding to the grass. 

“It would've hurt someone,” Ford pointed out. 

Gordo shrugged. “Whatever, man. This party's a bust. Let's go inside and make some prank calls.” 

Ford followed them both inside, even though he was getting pretty tired of all this stupid pranking. He wanted to just go study his journal again, or do some research on that code from the Crystals, but he wasn't sure how to get out of hanging with Roman and Gordo. Or how to get them to leave, unless he flat-out told them togo. They were kind of bossy and it was surprisingly hard to say no to them – the best he'd been able to accomplish so far was redirect their attention. 

Maybe it was just that Ford being bad at having friends. (Aside from Stanley, he'd never actually had one before this summer. Fiddleford was the first.) But maybe it wasn't so bad. Even though he'd been with Roman and Gordo all day, they didn't treat him as weird and they hadn't once called him something like freak or weirdo or demon-child. 

And...

And just now, when he'd been standing in front of the tourist crowd... His first thought had been, 'Act like Stanley,' and he'd flung his arms wide – and he'd showed his hands for everyone to see. He was still kind of shaky, because he hated getting up in front of people, but he'd pulled it off without a hitch. For once in his life, no one had given his hands a second look. 

 

Stanley was now walking with Ford's hands in his pockets and his shoulders all hunched over, glaring angrily at the sidewalk. Was everybody in this town really that stupid? They saw all that nutty stuff in Mabel's Museum and didn't bat an eye, but give them a look at a hand with six fingers and suddenly they gawk like they've never seen an actual hand before in their stupid lives! Those two farmer guys actually drove him away with pitchforks, for crying out loud! 

He was so boiling mad he didn't even notice the open gate and ran face-first into it. He landed hard on his butt, one hand clamped to his nose. “Ow!” 

“Oh, sorry, dude.” 

Stan looked up. It was Soos. He didn't realize he'd walked so far around town. 

“What're you doin' on the ground?” Soos asked, peering at him curiously. 

Stan's lip curled. “Go ahead, stare at it!” he snarled, launching to his feet, fingers curled into fists. He brandished his knuckles. “Six of them! Okay?! Is that okay with you?!You gonna burn me in a church or something?! 'Cuz I'd like to see you try, go ahead and try!” 

Soos stared at him for a long moment. 

“Uh...Stanley?” 

“What?” Stan snapped. Then he realized what had just happened. “Wait, what?” 

“You swap bodies with Ford or somethin'?” Soos asked, all casual like he was just talking about the weather. 

Stanley stared at him. 

“Yeah, okay, you're definitely Stanley,” Soos said, and opened the gate wider. “C'mon. You wanna play Tiger Fist with me and you can tell me what's going on?” 

 

Stanley sat in the car next to Soos as they rode back to the Shack. Ria had the pick up truck, as usual, so they were taking the bus. 

“Hey, look, that cloud's shaped like a dinosaur,” Soos said, pointing out the window. “And that one's shaped like a waffle. And that one's shaped like a waffle eating a dinosaur!” 

“Whatever.” Stanley slouched in his seat. Soon as he gave Ford back his stupid body, Stanley was going to that room and locking himself inside forever. Or at least until dinner or something. 

“Aw, c'mon, dude, it's no fun if I play by myself.” 

“Sometimes you don't have a choice.” 

Suddenly his head was being squashed between his shoulders and he yelped in surprise. He realized it was only Soos ruffling his hair, a bit too strongly. 

“Hey, buddy, don't look so down.” 

Don't look so down? _Seriously?!_ People had been calling him – calling Ford a freak all day. Did that always happen when Stanley wasn't around? He'd pounded their faces in every time, but for once it didn't make him feel any better. He knew the next person he met would probably stare at his hands and he'd always be thinking about if they'd say it, if they'd do something about it, it was always there in his brain and it was hard to think about anything else. He was on edge and he almost wanted them to call him a freak just so it would give him an excuse to pound something. 

He was used to people looking down on him. Heck, he practically made it a life goal to annoy as many people as possible. But this was different. This was people hating him for something he hadn't even done. 

As if reading his mind, Soos said, “It's not your fault, Stan. The way Ford hides his hands all the time, I bet Ford gets that sort of stuff no matter what.” 

That thought made him feel sick. Stan turned his face away. 

“But that's what he's got you for,” Soos continued. “So when the world fights, you fight back for him.” 

“Not that he cares,” Stan muttered. 

“What makes you think that?” 

Stan didn't say anything. Saying Ford wanted to move out was too much like those nightmares he'd been having. If he said it, it would all come true. He couldn't think about that and worry about the next guy he met on the street at the same time. He was starting to get a headache. 

“Hey, man, don't worry,” Soos said gently. “You guys are closer than any brothers I've ever seen. Whatever's going down between you two, it'll pass.” 

The bus hissed and rolled to a stop. 

“You gonna be okay?” Soos asked, as Stanley got up. 

Stanley shrugged. “Whatever, Soos.” He took two steps and stopped. It was like there was this huge block in front of him that kept him from moving forward. He didn't want to get off the bus. He didn't want to face the next person, or move into that stupid room. For once he didn't want to fight about anything. He wanted to sit on this bus and ride with Soos and not have to think about anything anymore. 

“Here.” 

He felt Soos push something at him, and by reflex he took his hand out of his pocket to get it. He heard some lady at the back of the bus gasp. His shoulders stiffened. 

“Go home, Stan the Man, you'll be okay,” Soos said, giving him a gentle push. “But you can come back anytime, alright?” 

Stanley got off. He didn't look at the bus as it drove out of sight. He looked down at his hand instead. 

Soos had given him the spare key to his house. 

Stan wasn't thinking about anything, staring at that key. He wasn't thinking about how Soos had basically given him the best way to break into his house and steal stuff without getting caught, or how cool it would be to sneak in there in the morning and pretend to have been there all night, or how he could hide his toffee peanuts at Soos' house, instead of risking Gompers finding them around the Shack. He _especially_ wasn't thinking about how this wasn't anything at all like that stupid nightmare, because now he had somewhere to go in case his family ever really...

He didn't think about it. 

He stuffed the key – and his six digits – back into his pocket and started back towards the Shack. 

 

It was official: Gordo and Roman were _never going to leave._

They sat at the table in the den. Roman and Gordo had been making prank calls with the voice distorter for over an hour. Ford was really tired of listening to, “ _This is the President of the United States, and YOU have been chosen to perform an ultra-top-secret mission!_ ” 

Not that either of them seemed to notice how bored Ford was, sitting at the opposite end of the table with his head in his hands. If anything, they seemed to get more energized as time went on – they'd actually had a few people fall for the scam, and the two boys sent them on wild goose chases. (As in, literally sent them to chase wild geese at the farm down the road.) Ford was actually fine with this. The last time he'd gone to the farm on his own, they'd called him Satan Spawn and chased him off with pitchforks. 

“Hey Stanley, look alive, man!” Roman said, snapping his fingers in front of Ford's face. “These pranks ain't gonna call themselves!” 

_That doesn't even make sense_ , he thought. He stood up. “I'm, uh, I'm gonna get a glass of water.” 

“Oh, great idea! Get some for us, too. All this talking's wearing out our voices!” 

Ford suppressed a sigh. Maybe being normal wasn't all it was cracked up to be. 

 

When Stanley walked up, Mabel was flopped over Waddle's back like an old-lady rainbow.

“Ahhh, what a day,” she sighed. “Exploding fairies – I gotta remember that one.” 

Normally Stan was interested in explosions of any kind. Today he didn't really care. He started up the porch and into the Shack. 

“Whoa, hey.” She caught at his sleeve. “Normally you're into all kindza paranormal stuff, and today you're not even interested in fairies?” 

Stanley blinked at her. It was Ford who was interested in fairies. Ford who put up with all that stupidness all the time. It didn't matter what Stanley did, no matter how many kids he beat up, that was never going to change, was it?

“Hey, now...” Mabel sat up. “Did something happen?” 

“No.” 

“Ha ha,” she said dryly. “Leave the lying to Stanley, wouldja? Your face is so swollen you look like Waddles. What's wrong?” 

He snapped. “Nothing, okay?!”

“Now you _really_ sound like Stan.” She looked at him closely. “Does getting that extra room really matter that much to you?” 

The room! For a second he'd totally forgotten about it! Was he supposed to suck up to her or make him hate her? He couldn't think and he was exhausted but _no way_ was he going to just – 

She took the key out of her pocket. “Look, kid, I was gonna give the room to Stanley, since he hates heights anyway. But if it means that much to you, then maybe you should have it instead.” She dropped the key into his hand. “The room belongs to you, Stanford.” 

 

Ford was stalling. 

He'd poured three glasses of water and was now staring at them to see if he had any telekinetic powers, when he knew for a fact that he did not. If that wasn't stalling, he'd eat the journal. 

The kitchen's back door opened. Ford looked up as Stanley walked in. 

“Thank Galileo, you're back!” Ford said eagerly, grabbing his hand. “Quick, let's switch bodies and you can go hang out with...” He trailed off, looking down with surprise. There was a key in Stan's hand. 

“Yeah, you got the key to the room,” Stan said sharply, hackles rising. “Nice greeting, by the way. Try, 'Hi, Stan! Nice to see you, Stan! You look like someone beat you up, Stan!'”

“Whatever, you're always getting beat up at –” Ford stopped. “Hey! That's _my_ face! What the heck, you got me beat up?! What is your _problem?_ ” 

“Oh, _my_ problem!?” Stan's voice rose to a shriek. “My _problem_ is that _I_ get beat up and the first thing you care about is yourself! Well forget it!” He snatched his hand away. “So what if Mabel gave you the key? You can't have the room – if you can never get in!” He took off down the hall. 

“HEY!” Ford yelled sharply, racing after him. But Stan made it to the room and shut the door in Ford's face. Ford couldn't stop and actually rammed into the door face-first. He stumbled back with his hand on his nose. “HEY!” he shouted again, pounding on the wood. “OPEN THE DOOR, STANFORD! I mean, Stanley...” He turned his back and leaned on the door, rubbing his swelling schnozz. Great. He'd never thought he'd miss his own body so much. How was he supposed to get Stanley to open the – 

“Hey, Stanley,” Roman called. “Where are those drinks already?” 

A slow, ever-so-slightly evil grin lit Stanford's face. 

 

Stanley lay on his back, flopped on that ugly switcheroo carpet, waving his arms and legs to make a carpet angel. The key was still clenched in one hand. So what if his day sucked? So what? In the end he'd gotten the room and who cared that Ford didn't think to ask if Stan was even okay. They had their own rooms just like they wanted and they'd never have to share anything ever aga–

_Knock, knock, knock._

“We are the actual, official Lottery and you just won a million bucks!” came a deep voice. “Open up and claim your prize!” 

Stanley sprang to his feet. He'd know that distorted voice anywhere! 

“Gordo, Roman!” he said, opening the door. “Man, am I glad to see –”

He stopped short. Stanford was standing between them, an actually devious smile on his face. 

“Wait, no, don't let him in here!” he shouted, trying to shut the door. 

“TOO LATE!” Gordo said, and barreled straight through the doorway, knocking Stanley on his butt. Gordo then held him down while Roman drew all over his face with a Sharpie. For a second Stanley actually panicked and tried to hit them, but both of them were too strong. 

“Haha, you look like a pirate!” Roman laughed. “G'wan, Stan, show him the mirror!” 

“You know, guys, it's almost perfect,” Stanford said thoughtfully, shuffling towards them. Static electricity crackled around his socks as he stepped onto the carpet. “Let me just add one...final... _touch_.” 

Stanford touched his nose and a blast of lightning sent all four of them sprawling on the floor. 

Stanley groaned and sat up. Stanford said something, but it sounded like it was coming from underwater.

He squinted. “What?” 

“I've got the key,” Stanford repeated, patting his jacket pocket. 

“Somebody wanna explain what just happened?” Roman asked. 

“Ugh.” Stanley got to his feet. This body hadn't been beaten up, but all that electricity sure did a number on him anyway. “ _I_ barely understand it. All I know is if you shuffle your feet on this carpet you can switch bodies or whatever. “

“Reeeeally,” Gordo said. Without getting up, he quickly scrubbed his feet on the carpet and reached out for Stanford. “Zappie zappie!” 

“No wait, no –”

_FLASH._

“Aaaand it happened,” Stanford said, speaking from Gordo's body. 

“Wow, look at all the extra fingers!” 

“ENOUGH WITH THE FINGERS,” Stanley roared, and they jumped. 

This did not distract them for long. Roman immediately shuffled his feet and grabbed Stanley's arm. 

“Hey –”

_FLASH._

“Haha, I look like a dork!” Roman said, shrieking with laughter. “Check out my hair! Check out my missing tooth! Betcha I can whistle with it!” 

Stanley rolled his eyes. “Well _now_ you're making me look like a dork. On the plus side, now my arms are super-long!” He turned and dove straight for Gordo. “GIMME THAT KEY!” 

“HEY!” 

They wrestled and rolled and smacked straight into Gordo. 

_FLASH._

Gordo, Roman, Stanley, and Stanford stood on the carpet – none of them in their own bodies. 

“Well this is different,” Stanford said sarcastically, speaking from Stanley's body. 

“Wow, Gordo, you sweat more'n my brother,” Stanley said, looking down at Gordo's dumpy body. 

Gordo stood awkwardly in Roman's body. “Wow, I'm like the eiffel tower!” he exclaimed. 

Roman – in Stanley's body – raised his hand. “I am now thoroughly confused.” 

“Forget it,” Stanford said. “Let's all just switch back in three...” He started shuffling, and they all followed suite. “...two...o–”

“Ba-a-a-a-ah!” 

Gompers charged into the room, followed closely by a very large pig that was not Waddles. 

“WAIT!” Stanford shouted, too late. 

_FLASH._

Stanley had no idea where the spare pig had come from, unless Waddles had somehow learned how to reproduce by budding. (Which would be both cool and disturbing.) He didn't have much time to think about it, though, because in the next few minutes he got electrocuted so many times he lost count. He turned into Gordo, Gompers, Weird Pig, Roman, Stanford, back to Gordo, Stanford again, and finally himself – although at that point his brain was mush and he could barely count his fingers to check. 

Something touched his shoulder. “Stanley?” his brother asked. “Are you...you?” 

He looked up at Stanford's face. “I, uh, I think so.” 

Stanford grinned. “Well I've got the key!” 

“HEY!” 

They raced out of the room, leaving the others to play body-tag. Stanley chased Ford up and down the attic stairs, around the living room (where Mabel was watching another random soap opera), into the kitchen, and finally back up to the attic. 

Ford jumped onto his bed and held the key as high as he could above his head, but with Stanley's extra millimeter, climbing up and getting it took no time at all. 

“Give it back, Stanley, the room is mine!” Ford barked, lunging for the key. 

Stanley leaped off the bed, dodged his brother, and then literally sat on Ford's stomach, holding him down so he couldn't reach the key. 

“What's with you!?” Stanley barked. “Why do you need that stupid room so bad? Are you trying that hard to get away from me? I never even wanted to move out!” 

“Me either!” 

They both stared at each other, shocked. Stanley stuck a finger in one of his ears and rotated. “Say what now?” 

“I...” Ford looked anywhere but at Stanley's face. “I never wanted to move out.” 

Stanley stared at him a minute more, then stood up slowly. Ford got up and brushed himself off. 

“Is this another genius thing I don't understand?” Stanley asked. The key hung limply from his hands, but Ford wasn't trying to get it anymore. He stuck his hands in his pockets and kicked at the floor. 

“Look...everything was fine until you started bringing your friends around every night. You always hang out with them, and I'm not exactly a people person. I mean, I love doing research and stuff with you and Fiddleford. But now you're always hanging out with Roman and Gordo and I'm just...left behind.” 

“Sixer...”

Ford shrugged. “Forget it. You wouldn't understand what I'm going through.” 

“You're probably feeling awkward and sweaty, huh?” Stan asked. _And like you want to hide,_ he mentally added, glancing at Ford's hands in his pockets. 

His brother looked up at him, surprised. “Yeah...how'd you know?” 

Stanley looked down at the key in his hand. Too much stuff had happened and his brain was on overload, but he knew one thing: he hated it when his brother got upset. “Here,” he said, tossing Ford the key. “Just keep the room. I won't fight you for it.” 

Ford caught it, surprised. “Really?” 

“Yeah, really. C'mon, let's go try and get that new pig to make out with Waddles.” 

 

That night, Stanley and Ford brushed their teeth at the sink, same as always. They put on their pajamas, same as always. And then Stanley went upstairs to the attic, got into bed, pulled the blankets over his legs, and turned to say goodnight to his brother. 

The other side of the room was empty. 

He lay down facing the wall so he wouldn't have to look at it. 

He'd stuffed Soos' key under his pillow for safekeeping. (He thought about sticking it in the mattress, but that's where all his other valuables were hidden, and it was getting kinda full.) He felt under his head until he found it and wrapped his fingers around the cold metal. 

Today hadn't been the worst day of his life, but it was definitely in the running. Sure, Stanford didn't hate him, but having him switch rooms – not even houses, or schools, just to a different room in the same house – left this weird coldness in Stanley's gut. It felt even worse than when people had kept commenting on his hands today. That was just people being stupid. Most people _were_ stupid, which was why Stanley always had his brother's back. But...if Stanley ever needed Ford...if Ford ever decided he didn't need Stanley...would that stupid nightmare he'd been having actually come true? 

_Knock knock knock._

Stanley rolled over, surprised. Couldn't be Grauntie Mabel, could it? She sent them to bed and had never once come up the stairs after that. He hopped out of bed, walked over, and opened the door. 

“Stanford?” 

“Hey, Stanley.” Ford smiled a little. There was a pillow under one arm and a blanket under the other. “Can we, uh, can we have a sleepover?” 

A slow grin spread over Stanley's face. He stepped back to let his brother inside. “Hey, you wanna build the Ultimate Fort Stan again?” 

Ford grinned back. “How 'bout the _Super Ultimate Ninja_ Fort Stan?” 

“I can do that! We're gonna need pillows!” 

“So many pillows!” 

They ran up and down the stairs, grabbing all of Ford's bedding and the cushions from Grauntie Mabel's chair. It was all they could do to keep from laughing when they darted past her bedroom. Once they'd collected all their supplies, they started construction on the greatest fort of all time. 

“We might need to sleep in here,” Stanley said at one point. “Since, you know, we're peeling all the stuff off our beds.” 

“Eh,” Ford said. “I guess. At least I won't have to carry my bedding back downstairs, though.” 

It took a second for that to process. Stan's head jerked up. “Wait, so, does that mean...?” 

“Yeah, if that's okay.” 

Stanley tackled his brother in a bear hug. “You kidding?” he laughed. “It's great. Better than great. Best day o' my life!” 

It was, too. He should've known better. Ford would always have his back – that's what the two of them were all about. No way would they ever be separated. That stupid nightmare was nothing to worry about. 

Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> STAAAAANGST. And fluffy ending with an ominous twist at the end! DOES IT GET BETTER YES IT DOES TIME FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER. 
> 
> Also, as a side note, I know we all think of Stan as a conman with little to no regard for other people's possessions or emotions. But looking at that clip from “A Tale of Two Stans” when they were kids, I don't think Stan started out life that way. I think, as a kid, he was more capable of empathy – until getting thrown out of his family made him tougher and more cynical in emotional self-defense. As a kid, though, I think he was still crusty, and still selfish, but more capable of thinking about how other people felt. 
> 
> Now sit back and know that THINGS WILL ONLY GET WORSE FOR OUR SMOLL INNOCENT STAN.


	12. Carpet Diem Short

Mabel was tired. 

Even with seven glasses of Mabel Juice, she wasn't making much progress. Her hands were shaking a little bit and her vision get getting blurry. She put down the pencil and leaned forward on the desk, bracing her head in her hands, the heels of her palms hot against her eyes. 

She was in the Portal room. It felt like she was _always_ in the Portal Room. Sleeping or awake, upstairs or down, she was always in the Portal Room in the back of her mind, a hidden dark place where dreams turned to nightmares. And _every night_ on the way down the stairs, she saw the image of her brother's back as he led her down. She listened to his voice in the hum of the elevator. The doors would open, and darkness would press in on her, just a big black nothing where her brother should be. It hurt. 

“ _Stanley and Stanford, sittin' in a tree,_ ” she sang softly to herself. “ _And Waddles and Ria and Seandra and me.../And Dan comes along with his big sharp ax,/And builds us a treehouse where we can relax..._ Oh, Gompers,” she realized quietly. “Right, I need to make a new version to include him – I knew I was missing someone...” 

That last thought was like a noose around her neck. 

When she thought she could breathe without crying, she pushed back from the desk and went into the Portal part of the lab. Her shoulder buzzed a little as she entered, like it could feel the hidden energies coursing through the sleeping machine. 

She hadn't cracked the codes yet, and she was no closer to turning it on, but she'd been reading up on advanced engineering. Fiddleford had given her a couple of books when she said she wanted to design a science-fiction exhibit. Parts of the Portal had broken off in the fight, and she'd been fixing them for a while, but maybe tonight she'd finally get it fixed for real. (Duct tape only went so far, she was surprised to find out.) 

She got Fiddleford's book from the table where she'd left it and grabbed the supplies she'd need from the toolbox against the wall. She went to work, talking to the Portal as she did so. 

“You'd think a genius who built this thing would leave an instruction manual,” she muttered for the nine-thousandth time. “Then again, you guys were always so smart I bet you could literally design blueprints in your sleep. You know, I've actually used some of the science stuff to make my exhibits upstairs. Not the taxidermy stuff – I mostly order that online – but like, the special effects. And Mabel Juice. That's right, bro-bro, your crazy sister's most magical coffee-free recipe came from _your own science!_ How's that for irony?” She chuckled. “Alright, alright, I hear you, that's not a good example of irony. Geez, always such a stick in the mud. Remember, kids! 'Mud' spelled backwards is –”

The wires she'd been reconnecting suddenly sparked and a bolt of lightning shot out, arcing over the floor and racing for the button in the middle of the room. Mabel leaped backwards with a yelp, scrambling away until the wires had sparked themselves out. 

“Yeeeah, maybe I should wear those rubber gloves,” she said, and went to get them. What she _should_ do was stop working. If she was that tired, she was bound to make more mistakes. But what if he was in trouble _right now_ and tonight would be the night she got him back? She couldn't just _stop._

Maybe another glass of Mabel Juice. With extra ginger this time. 

She covered the wires with rubber to keep them from going nuts again. Heck, the smartest idea would be to turn the darn thing off completely while she worked, but she was too frightened that she wouldn't be able to start it up again, ever. At least it was in some kind of “hibernate” mode, which meant that it was working, sort of. Even if it wouldn't turn on all the way. Maybe there was some kind of mouse or something she had to move or activate, just like a computer, that would get it to wake up all the way. 

She mulled the thought over as she rode the elevator, then the took stairs up to the Gift Shop. There was a small video feed built into the back of the vending machine door. She checked it, but there was no one in the shop. She headed out and shuffled to the kitchen. 

“Oof!” 

She was so tired she didn't even jump. She just looked down as Ria slowly sat up, rubbing her eyes. Apparently she'd been lying in the kitchen doorway and Mabel had kicked her by accident. 

“What're you doing up so late, Ria?” Mabel asked, yawning. 

“Sorry, Ms. Pines.” 

“Yeah, okay, but this is a little weird, even for you. Siddown, huh?” 

Ria went to the kitchen sink instead and started doing the dishes. Mabel hadn't even realized there _were_ dishes. Ria must've made the kids dinner when she was still doing tours. 

Mabel flopped into a chair at the table. _I'm a horrible grauntie_ , she thought miserably. 

“Here, Mrs. Pines.” 

Mabel looked up. Ria was putting a glass of milk on the table in front of her. “It's warm. I sweetened it. It's my anti-Mabel juice. You look like you've had six glasses too many.” 

“Blasphemy,” she said, but she smiled and downed the whole cup. “That was good,” she said, and belched loudly. She patted the table next to her. “Go on, sit down. You wanna tell me why you're not home cleaning your own dishes?” 

Ria sat down slowly. “I think...I maybe made a mistake,” Ria said quietly. “I was going to the Sprotts farm to get more feed for Waddles. There was a new litter of pigs, most of them with glowing eyes or two tails or something, but one of them was small and gray and I thought it would be the perfect friend for Waddles.” Mabel nodded thoughtfully. She thought she'd seen a new gray squealer running around earlier, but she'd been too busy to squeal over it herself. 

“But by the end of the day, the little guy seemed weirdly spooked,” Ria continued. “It was all shaky and crying, so I took it back to the farm. I just gave it back for free – I know you'd say I should have tried to sell it, but...anyway...” Ria's whole body turned sad, right down to the ends of her curly hair. “When I brought it back...the other piglets just ignored it. Didn't want anything to do with it anymore. The Sprotts just shrugged it off, but...what if the little guy never fits in again? What if they leave him out of their cute little pig games because I took him away? I made him an outcast. In his own _family._ ” Huge tears swam and glittered in her eyes. 

“Aw, c'mon,” Mabel said, sniffing loudly. She thumped Ria on the back a little too hard. “If _you_ cry then _I'll_ cry and _Waddles_ 'll cry...” 

Ria scrubbed at her eyes. 

“Look, kid, you did a good thing thinking of Waddles. I don't think he's super-lonely, and he's got Gompers now, but another pig friend isn't a bad idea. So what if you didn't pick the right pig? Bet you could dress up as a pig and Waddles would love it just the same. And as for that piglet – maybe they could just tell he was spooked and needed some alone time to get himself together. Maybe they thought he smelled funny – Stanley loves to practice farting on command, I bet _that's_ what scared the squirt in the first place. Or maybe the pig was just too young to leave its mama, in which case the Sprotts never should've sold it in the first place. Any way you spin it, it ain't your fault.” 

Ria smiled weakly. “Thanks, Ms. Pines.” 

“What were you doing on the floor, anyhow?” 

“Well, I got kinda tired, and the last time I fell asleep in my break room I got second-degree burns.” 

“Ahaha,” Mabel fake-laughed awkwardly. “Yeeeah...we'll see about getting you a better break room, okay? At least sleep on the living room if you're gonna pass out. It's got carpeting.” 

“I thought I'd wake you up. Usually you're in there watching TV.” 

“Right, right. Listen, you go on home and wake up Soos and get a big hug from your abuelito, huh? Hugs are like, _the_ best medicine for a broken heart.” 

“You got it, Ms. Pines.” 

Mabel saw her to the door, made sure she was awake enough to drive, and waved as Ria left in the pick-up truck. 

_Cryin' over a pig. That girl's got a heart the size of Texas._

Mabel closed the back door. For a minute she just stood there, looking sightlessly through the window. Ria was going home to her family. And she'd bet her good dentures that Stanford had already gone back upstairs to the attic. (Which meant she'd probably just found Ria's new break room.) Waddles was sacked out on the porch, with Gompers flopped on his back like an undersized blanket. Everybody together, and happy. That was how it was supposed to be. 

_I made him an outcast._

She was so tired she could feel the ends of her bones in her arms, and her back sort of sagged on her waist. Her feet hurt from standing all day. She should just go lie down or her joints would be like little balls of fire tomorrow. 

She walked quietly back to the Gift Shop and typed the code in the vending machine. 

“ _Stanley and Stanford, sittin' in a tree,_ ” she sang softly, as she rode the elevator down to the lab. “ _And Waddles and Ria and Seandra and me...Dan cuttin' wood and Gompers eatin' hay,/And Dipper sittin' next to me to hug the sad away..._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weren't expecting a Mabel short, were you. 
> 
> Mabel is such a bright and sunny person, but in this AU she carries so much sadness around. Be strong, Mabel. Don't give up.


	13. Girlz Crazy

The security tape showed a tourist with a hefty mustache holding up a shirt and gesturing to Grauntie Mabel. 

“'Do you have this T-shirt in my size?'” Seandra asked, changing her voice to match the tourist's. Then she switched it so she sounded like Grauntie Mabel: “'Behold! I have something even better... _my butt!_ '” 

The Grauntie Mabel on screen turned and bent down for a box, sticking her rear end high in the air. Seandra and Ford burst out laughing. They'd been doing dubs on the Shack's security tapes for half an hour...and it was _awesome._

“I could play this game forever,” Ford whispered. 

“What did you say?” 

“Nothing!” Ford faked a loud cough. “I was coughing! Those weren't words!” 

A sudden chuckle made him jump. Stanley had snuck up to the cash register counter and was leaning on it, his ankles crossed, his chin resting on his hand, a mocking gleam in his eye. “This is fun. I could sell tickets!” 

“Stanley!” Ford barked, turning red. “How long have you been standing there?” 

“Don't worry about that,” Stanley said, rolling his eyes. “Let's talk about why I'm doing this dance!” He stepped back and started doing an improvised jig. 

“Smile dip,” Seandra said, just as Ford said, “Cursed shoes.” 

“Wrong one thousand, Mystery Shack minions! It's because today is the GREATEST DAY OF MY LIFE!” 

“You won the lottery?” Ford asked, just before a calendar smacked him in the face. He caught it and looked at it. He wasn't even aware that Stanley had a calendar. This one had a picture of the Nice Girlz taped to the front. 

“The Nice Girlz are playing tonight at the Gravity Falls Civic Center and Buffet!” 

Ford frowned. “So you can like the Nice Girlz but I can't like Baba?” 

“You like BABA?” Carla said, popping up in front of the counter. Ford jumped. She plucked the calendar from his hand. “I'll have you know, Mr. Stanford, that the Nice Girlz not only came a decade too late, but they use synthesized music and nonthreatening, repetitive lyrics with absolutely no deeper meaning whatsoever!” 

“I'm thrilled,” Ford monotoned. “Guys, you know all those boy/girl bands are fake, right?” 

“Ford's right,” Seandra said, nodding. “They're just manufactured product of the bloated corporate music industry.” 

Ford snickered. “There's probably a machine that mass-produces them.” 

“Oh man, or maybe they're grown from identical pods!” 

They laughed. 

Stanley was undeterred. “Mock all you want, but Stanley's got back-up. Right, Carla?” 

“Right!” She grinned and grabbed his hand, and they did a quick dance on the spot. Today she'd shed her usual poodle skirt for a pair of bell bottom jeans with bright blue sequin flames flaring from the hems. She danced and they glittered like real fire. “I hear they're even bringing in a new opening act from Canada,” she said excitedly. “This show's gonna be the _bomb!_ ” 

Suddenly the Gift Shop door burst open. Roman and Gordo ran in. 

“Did someone say 'bomb'?” Gordo wheezed. 

Carla looked surprised. “What're you guys doing here?” 

“We heard the Nice Girlz were gonna be in town!” Roman said eagerly. “Hey Stan, you wanna come sneak backstage with us?” 

“Dude.” Stanley held up his and Carla's knotted hands. “Girlfriend.” 

Carla grinned. “Aw, you're sweet. Hey, you guys wanna come to the concert with us? There's gonna be a ton of music and potentially limitless food!” 

“WE'RE IN!” 

 

Stanley and his posse were sitting in his room upstairs. He'd flipped up his bed to show all his Nice Girlz posters taped to the bottom, and they had a bunch more spread out on the floor. They were deciding which ones to take in case they got close enough for autographs. The Nice Girlz wore a 90s outfit in shades of white and hot pink, and they posed perfectly in each picture. 

“Geez, Stan, you're kind of a fan-nerd, aren'tcha?” Roman asked, eyeing the large quantity of posters. 

Carla frowned at him, but Stanley smiled with pride. “You better believe it! Hey Carla, which one's your favorite: Jamie 'Joyful' Nice, Amy 'Agreeable' Nice, Daisy 'Delightful' Nice, Laine 'Lovely' Nice, or Samantha “Scary” Nice?

Gordo sighed. “She's the hottest one.” 

“Um, _excuse_ you, my girlfriend's obviously hotter,” Stanley said proudly, smiling at Carla. “Right, babe? Bet you could be a Nice Girl.” 

Roman snickered. “What do you think her name would be? Carla 'Curly' Nice? Carla 'Corny' Nice?” 

“'Hot Pants',” Stanley said firmly, pointing to Carla's bellbottoms. “And she wouldn't need 'Nice' at the end. It's just Carla 'Hot Pants' McCorkle.” 

“I like it,” she announced. “From now on, all who call me 'Hot Pants' are fully entitled to whatever autographs I get from the Nice Girlz. Or any other band in America.” 

“Works for me, Hot Pants!” Roman said immediately. 

Gordo leaned back. “Man. Can you imagine if we met them tonight and they all fell in love with us?” 

“Why _wouldn't_ they?” Stanley said, jumping to his feet. He struck a pose like he was flexing. “We're awesome!” 

Carla smothered her laugh. “I think maybe we should focus on the posters,” she managed when she could talk. “Let's go with... _this_ one.” 

Roman wasn't paying attention. “Betchya we could sneak backstage after the show's over,” he said slyly. “Betchya we could. Hey Stanley, you in?” 

“Uh, duh! You even have to ask?” 

“Well, you _do_ have a lady friend,” Roman said, nodding at Carla. “You tend to act all goody-goody around her. It gets really annoying.” 

Carla frowned. “What's _that_ supposed to mean?” 

“Yeah!” Stanley said. “Don't get jealous just 'cuz I got the finest girl in town. We're going to see the Nice Girlz tonight, and then we're gonna sneak backstage, and we're gonna steal their stuff and sell it on ebay at five times the price!” 

 

Ford and Seandra were still dubbing security when Aaron walked in. 

“'Hi, is this where I can get more whitening strips for my teeth?'” Ford mimicked. “'I like things that're obnoxious, I'm Aaron.” 

Seandra giggled a little. “Psh, c'mon, man.”

“Ha, ha,” said Aaron, walking up to the counter. He leaned toward Seandra, smiling that stupidly white smile. “So hey, Seandra. Nate and his girlfriend are going up to Lookout Point tonight. Maybe we should go too...” He wiggled his eyebrows and Ford nearly gagged. Could there _be_ anyone more annoying? 

For once, Seandra seemed to agree with Ford. She got right in his face. “Are you _kidding me?!_ ” she demanded. “First you stand me up last night, then, instead of apologizing, you want me to go to Lookout Point?!” 

Ford backed up. “I'll just be...over here,” he said, stepping into the Employees Only door that led to the den. He tapped the door shut, then creaked it open just a little bit so he could watch. 

“Ba-a-ah,” said Gompers behind him. 

“Shh!” 

“Look, Aaron,” Seandra said. “I'm not sure this relationship thing is working out. Maybe we should see other people.” She turned away and folded her arms, glaring at the wall. 

Fireworks went off in Ford's brain. _Yes, yes, YESSS!!!!_ He grabbed Grompers and swung him back and forth, barely holding in his glee. Finally, that loser Aaron was going to be out of the picture for good! 

“Wait, wait,” Aaron said quickly. “Before you do anything crazy...I got you this new CD as a present.” 

Ford paused. _Present?_

Peeking through the door, he saw Aaron take out a CD from a cover that was shaped like a monster. There was an odd expression on Aaron's face when he put it in the CD player. He looked...greedy. 

Aaron pressed play and started singing along. “ _When I think about you,/I feel feelings so deep!/I'm tossing and turning,/and you know I'm losing sleep..._ ” 

“Yeesh,” Ford muttered. _Annoying? Check. Corny? Double-check._ No way would Seandra be swayed by something so shallow. 

“... _just listen to this song, and you'll be hypno-ti-i-ized._ ” 

Seandra turned around. For a second her eyes were eerily blank, her pupils shrunk to pinpricks. Then she rubbed them and she was back to normal. 

She looked at him and smiled a little. “You know what? Maybe I was being too hasty. I guess I can give you another chance.” She leaned forward, touched his chin with her silken fingertips, and kissed him lightly on the cheek. 

Aaron grinned. “Yes!” 

Ford's jaw literally dropped, and for a second the whole world turned blue and black. _What? Seriously?! SERIOUSLY?!?!!?_

Seandra said something about a jacket and walked right past Ford to the coat rack in the den. 

Ford marched into the shop, glaring. “Alright, Aaron, I saw that weird CD. What the heck are you up to?” 

Aaron smirked. “It's called romance, kid. Something you would know nothing about.” 

Ford was so angry he was literally speechless. He'd not only read _every single available book_ on romance in the local library, he'd memorized the language of flowers and also every article Seandra had ever published and what brand of lip gloss she used on different days. If that wasn't romantic he'd eat his socks! 

“You ready?” Seandra asked, walking into the room with her coat on. “I can't believe you got that for me,” she said, smiling at Aaron. 

“I know, I'm so insanely romantic.” Aaron looped an arm over her shoulder and cast a look back at Ford, sticking out his tongue. 

Ford fumed. How could a jerk like that ever land a girl like Seandra?! Something was seriously wrong. 

He turned back to the CD player, eyeing it suspiciously. Everything had been going great until Aaron played that stupid song. 

Ford popped open the lid and took out the disc, examining it closely. It didn't have a design on the blank side, but other than that it looked pretty ordinary. And yet, as soon as it had played, Seandra had totally changed her mind about staying with Aaron. Ford held it up to the light. Maybe some kind of light refracted off of it that made the listener more susceptible to persuasion? But wait, you couldn't see the CD when it was playing. Was it sprayed with pheromones? Ford sniffed it, but it just smelled like regular plastic to him. Hmm...taste was basically an extension of the sense of smell. Maybe if he licked it...

“Uuum, what're you doing?” 

Ford froze. Stan, Carla, Roman, and Gordo were standing by the register. Stan was looking at him like he'd just passed 'weird' and was fast approaching 'crazy'. 

“Guys, the weirdest thing just happened. I think Aaron might be hypnotizing Seandra with music.” 

Carla snorted. “Hate to tell you, but girls just like musicians. You'll understand when you're older.” 

“Aren't we the same age?” 

“Girls mature faster than boys,” she said coolly, with a glance at Roman and Gordo. Gordo was pretending to make out with a girl on a poster he was carrying. “ _Obviously._ ” 

 

The Civic Center was alive with strobe lights, crazy fangirls, crazy fanboys, and music so loud Stan could feel it through his shoes. The entrance was glowing with a bright yellow light, there was a merchandise stand off to the left where they could by T-shirts, and the ticket booth positioned directly between two massive glass doors. 

“Alright, guys and gals!” Stanley said. “Have you all practiced your obsessed fan screams?” 

“AAAH!” cried Gordo. 

“AAAAAH!” shouted Roman. 

“Aaaaaaah!” trilled Carla, sounding more like she was singing than actually screaming. 

Stanley wiped a tear from his eye. “That was beautiful,” he sniffed. “Now – to the ticket booth!” 

They'd agreed to pay for their own tickets, and Stanley insisted that Carla get to go first. The cashier, a freckly guy with an attitude problem, grabbed Carla's money and slapped a ticket into her hand. Stanley stepped up next. The guy glared at him. 

“We're sold out, sucker,” he spat, and slammed the metal blinds down with a _BANG_. 

“HEY!” Stanley shouted. “But I was actually going to pay for once!” 

They looked around. A huge 'Sold Out' sign had been draped over every single Nice Girlz billboard, covering up posters, the tops of buildings, and for some reason, a fire hydrant. Stanley wished Gompers were there so he could chew or pee on it. 

Roman's face fell. “You gotta be kidding me! If we sneak backstage now we'll miss the whole concert!” 

Carla hesitated. “I could stay back with you guys...” 

“No, go ahead,” Stan said glumly. “Send us Clickpics, okay?” 

“Sure will.” She gave him a light kiss on the cheek and hurried inside, just before the doors swung shut. 

Roman, Gordo, and Stanley looked at each other. 

Stan set his jaw. “Okay, folks, I said we're gonna see the Nice Girlz and we're gonna see 'em, end of story!” He pointed to the Stage Doors, which had signs like “Backstage Personnel Only” and “Keep Out”. “ARE WE GONNA PASS UP A CHALLENGE LIKE THAT?” he roared. 

“NEVERRR!” they roared back. 

All three of them charged for the doors. 

 

Ford was so upset he didn't realize he'd walked into the kitchen until he heard Grauntie Mabel singing to herself, something about the apocalypse and brown meat. 

“What's with the pacing, kid?” she asked him, cracking open a can of meat. “You look even more freaked out than usual.” 

Ford stared at the CD in his hands, then stuffed it dejectedly into his jacket. “I dunno...you wouldn't understand,” he mumbled. For once, even he didn't understand. 

“Aw, c'mon!” she said, ushering him to a chair. “Try me!” 

“Well...” He took out the CD again and gestured with it. “This is gonna sound weird, but I think Aaron might be brainwashing Seandra with music.” 

She nodded seriously, an effect somewhat ruined when she licked brown meat off her spoon. “I've seen this before,” she said solemnly. 

“Wait, really?” 

She nodded again. “His name was Carlos O'Brian. Carlos 'Conman' O'Brian.” 

 

_She'd been in her early twenties, hawking home-knitted sweaters in a swap meet on some midwest college campus. Everywhere she looked, there were seagulls, dropped french fries, and stalls packed with chipped plates and broken porcelain clocks._

_Suddenly a call cut through the noise of the crowd: “Find the lady! Find the beautiful queen of hearts!”_

_She turned, and that's when she saw him: a nicely dressed college student cutting a deck of cards on a carpet a few yards away. He looked up and saw her watching him. He gave a low whistle._

_“Wow, I think I just found her,” he said, and she blushed tomato-red._

 

“He flirted with you?” Ford repeated. “You _blushed?_ ” 

“What, you can't picture your Grauntie in love?” 

_Well, no_ , he thought, but for the sake of the story he decided to enter a state of suspended disbelief. He gestured for her to go on. 

 

_They'd been going steady for over a month, with him teaching her every basic con in the book. She learned the my-car-broke-down-take-pity-on-me-and-give-me-tow-money, the I'm-trying-to-get-home-to-see-my-dying-father, the couple-on-a-date-but-guy-forgets-wallet-and-girl-is-so-upset-that-the-restaurant-takes-pity-and-doesn't-charge-her. (It was weird scamming people, but no one was getting hurt, and their marks were giving them the money themselves. Nobody was forcing them to donate money. Plus, it was money both of them needed – Carlos for his college tuition, and Mabel for things like yarn and gas and food.)_

_But the thing they really loved to do together was dance._

_There was a 50's-themed 1970's diner called the Juke Joint, where they'd go at least twice a week and dance to the old-timey tunes in the juke box. The diner even had a karaoke night, which Mabel absolutely dominated with her rendition of every song ever._

_One night, though, the Juke Joint had a special guest musician – some new-age hippie girl with hair down to her knees and braided with white fabric flowers. Mabel hadn't paid her much attention at first, since her music was pretty good, and she was too busy having fun dancing to think about anything else._

_Then she turned around and saw Carlos right up there on the stage, crooning sweet lyrics into the microphone. He was looking into the girl's blue eyes like he'd just discovered the color turquoise and couldn't get enough of it. Mabel stood there, utterly frozen, as they two of them held each other's hands and then rocketed into the night, leaving a rainbow-colored stream of light in their wake._

 

“My memories get a little hallucination-y at the end,” Mabel finished, “but you get the gist.” 

“So, wait, you actually believe my theory?” Ford asked. 

“You're darn tootin' I do!” She squeezed the can of meat in her hand until the insides oozed out. “And we're gonna get to the bottom of it! ...Right after I get to the bottom of this brown meat!” She tilted her head back and tapped the meat out, slurping it down like a smoothie. “It's apoca-licious!” 

 

It had taken almost two hours for Stanley to pick all the locks on their way back stage. Plus they had to cause a couple of diversions when they were almost caught by security guards. Luckily, Roman was so skinny he could pass for a clothes rack, so he just stuck out his arms and Stan and Gordo shrunk up their necks and they pretended they were a rack of costumes. Stan filed that trick away for later use. 

Finally they got to a part of the stage that had been set aside for storage. 

“Hello? Nice Girlz?” Roman called. 

“Heeeeere, Nice-y Nice-y Nice-y,” Gordo whistled. 

Stanley squinted, looking around in the dimly lit space. He saw some clothing racks, desks loaded with cardboard boxes, and some stage lights, but no super-hot Nice Girlz. “You think the show's over by now?” he asked. “I mean, it'd be totally cool to hide in their dressing room, but I'm hoping we wouldn't have to do that for very long.” 

“No way, show's definitely over,” Gordo said confidently. “I could totally hear it every time the fans went nuts, but they haven't done that for a solid ten minutes. Betcha the Nice Girlz are right over the–HEY!” 

Gordo pointed to a hallway of doors with shiny name plaques on them. The one with a star labeled “Nice Girlz” on it – and there was a pudgy kid with a blond bowl cut currently picking the lock. 

The kid turned and grinned, a big grin with some serious attitude behind it. Stanley immediately liked the guy. 

“Hey's for horses, but you're not at their level yet,” the kid sneered. 

Stanley snickered. “You're one to talk,” he shot back. “You got a name, or should we just call you 'Picker'?” 

“Pelter,” said the kid. “Crampelter.” 

“Stanley Pines,” Stan said, sticking out his hand. 

Crampelter grabbed it and they squeezed each other's knuckles so hard their bones audibly cracked. 

Stanley didn't flinch, and Crampelter's smile widened. “You got spunk, kid,” he said. “Alright, you guys can come with me. Right after I pick this stupid lock.” 

Stanley grinned. “Stand aside,” he said, sweeping his arm grandly, and made short work of the lock. He twirled his trusty bobby pins in his fingers, stuffed them back in his pocket, and pushed the door open, leading them inside. 

They took two steps in and gasped. 

The dressing room was definitely _not_ Hollywood-style glamorous. It was more like something out of Ford's science fiction books. The room was dark and lined with metal pipes. There was a sickly green glow coming from five tubes along one wall, full of murky green liquid with people-shaped things inside them with a sign reading “Cloning Tubes”. Most of the far side of the room was taken up by a human-sized hamster cage. The five Nice Girlz were all inside it, climbing through plastic tubes, licking water from a bottle with a metal spout, and running mindlessly on a bright red hamster wheel. 

“This is so much fun!” said Daisy 'Delightful' Nice, scurrying through the plastic. 

“I could watch this water keep appearing in the spout forever!” said Jamie 'Joyful' Nice. 

“I could tape your eyelids open so you could watch it all the time,” Samantha 'Scary' Nice said sweetly. 

Amy 'Agreeable' Nice hopped off the hamster wheel. “Yo, we're clones, dog!” she shouted. 

Stanley's jaw dropped. “Hot...Belgian... _waffles._ ” 

Before any of them could say another word, Gordo gasped and grabbed Stanley's shoulder. 

“Hey – someone's coming! Hide!” 

The four of them immediately dove for the nearest clothes rack. A short, incredibly round man stormed through the door, his bald head and gold tooth shining, his beady eyes glittering with anger. 

“Terrrrible shooow,” he growled, shaking his solid-gold cane. “Terrrrible shooow! What is wrong with you girlz?!” 

Stanley peeked out from between a frilly feather dress and a glittery white prom dress. The fat guy was waddling up to the cage, and the Nice Girlz were lining up to meet him. Their shoulders were hunched and they were fidgeting nervously. 

“You barely even sold out the arena!” the fat guy shouted. “And Delightful, you call that a pout?!” 

She pouted even more, showing the most impressive puppy-dog face Stanley had ever seen. He made mental notes on her technique. 

“All of you should be _ashamed_ of yourselves!” the guy roared. “Except you, Scary, you were really on point tonight. Here you go, sweetie.” He tossed a giant hamster treat at her through the bars. She grabbed it and started gnawing. When Jamie 'Joyful' Nice reached out tentatively, Samantha stopped chewing and gave her a smile so poisonously sweet it practically screamed _I will murder you in your sleep tonight._

The fat guy rounded on the other four. “As for the rest of you, remember: you can always be replaced...by your _sisters._ ” Something cold trickled down Stanley's spine. The fat guy laughed, turning to the cloning tubes. “DANCE FOR ME, CHILDREN, DANCE!” 

Immediately, all five children started doing synchronized dance moves in their sleep. 

The guy laughed harder, which made him cough. He left the dressing room yelling for a lemon water. 

At that point, Crampelter lost his balance and fell into Gordo, who fell into Stanley, who fell into Roman. The four of them tumbled out of the rack and onto the floor. 

“Who goes there?” Samantha 'Scary' said, shooting to her feet. “PREPARE TO BE DANCED AT!” 

Stanley, who was closest, sprang up and leaned on the bars, smiling as suavely as he could. “Wow, Samantha, are you sure you're not a Sharpie 'cuz you are F-I-N-E.” 

Samantha paused and blushed bright red. “Aw, you're _too_ kind,” she giggled. 

The guys were getting to their feet. 

“Wow, you guys are like, _clones,_ ” Roman said, awed. 

Crampelter scoffed. “Duh, Noodles, there's a sign that says 'Cloning Tubes' right there. Hey, what was the deal with that chubby moron, anyway?” he asked the girlz. 

Amy 'Agreeable' almost frowned. “He's our producer, not a moron.” 

“He genetically engineered us to be the perfect girl band, bae,” explained Laine 'Lovely.'

“But he keeps us in cages,” Samantha 'Scary' said. Her voice became sweet as nightshade. “Someday soon, he shall reap what he sows.” 

“I do like grim reapers,” Crampelter said thoughtfully.

“Uh-huh,” Gordo said, giggling vacantly. Laine 'Lovely' was stroking his hair. 

Then the Nice Girlz lined up and posed casually, with Jamie 'Joyful' Nice in the middle. “Our one dream is to escape into the _real_ world. For _real,_ ” she said dreamily. “I've heard about these amazingly wonderful green things called trees. I don't know what they are, but I wanna kiss one. And maybe do a lot of hugging, too...” 

Amy 'Agreeable' and Daisy 'Delightful' nodded. 

“But we can't disobey Mr. Bratsman,” Laine 'Lovely' said, her eyes widening. “He says he _loves_ us!” 

“I would, too,” Crampelter said. “You guys must net him a fortune!” 

Stanley wasn't paying attention. There was a giant padlock on the hamster cage and it was so big he could see all the little levers inside. He jimmied it in no time flat and flung the door open. 

“Alright, ladies, you're coming with us!” he declared. 

“Hey,” Crampelter said sharply, giving him a shove. “Who said you were the boss, huh?” 

“I'm sorry, do _you_ have a giant mysterious house with tons of hidden rooms where we can hide the Nice Girlz for however long we want?” Stanley challenged. “Yeah, didn't think so. C'mon, ladies, time to see how fun breakin' rules can be!” 

 

Grauntie Mabel cracked open a can of Pitt Cola and took a swig. She and Ford were sitting at the table in the den. It was pitch-black outside. Normally she'd have sent him to bed by now, but they were so engrossed in cracking the music mystery that she'd totally forgotten about it. (Ford wasn't about to remind her.) 

“Y'see, Ford,” she started, “Music has subliminal mind control hidden in it all the time. If you listen closely, even the music I play in the Gift Shop has sudden, hidden messages.” 

“Haha, yeah...” Somehow music that literally screamed ' _BUY MORE KEYCHAINS!_ ' didn't strike him as subtle. “So what do we do to find them?” 

She took out a record player they'd gotten from the attic and set it on the table. “Simple! If you wanna hear the message, you gotta slow down the record. Gimme that!” She snatched the CD from Ford's hand and stuck it through the spindle in the middle of the player. Then she placed the needle on its surface and turned it on. Ford leaned in, listening closely.

The needle started scratching the top of the CD so hard it threw sparks. 

“Oh. Right.” It was a _record_ -player, not CD-player. 

Mabel rubbed her chin. “We're doing somethin' wrong here, but I can't put my finger on it...” 

The front door opened. 

“That must be Stan,” Ford said, hopping out of his chair. 

Stan, Roman, and Gordo were struggling to fit a huge black duffel bag through the front door. 

“Hey, guys, how was the concert?” 

A boy with dirty-blond hair and mean eyes popped up from behind the bag. “Nothing, who asked you anyway, loser?” he snarled. 

Stanley cut him a look. “Chill, Crampelter. This is my brother, Ford.” 

“Where's Carla?” Ford asked. And who was the new guy?

Stanley shrugged. “Dunno. I tried to ring her cell phone, but it didn't –”

Suddenly the duffel bag gave a grunt. 

Ford frowned at it. “Did that bag just – ?”

“NO IT DIDN'T,” Stan said loudly. 

“THIS IS MONEY!” Gordo added. “LOTS OF MONEY!” 

“WE ARE CRIMINALS AND WE WILL CUT YOU!” Roman said. 

Stanley gave what was supposed to be a sinister laugh, but sounded more like a dead rat farting. “LET'S GO AWAY FROM HERE NOW!” 

The four boys shoved the duffle up the stairs. Ford could swear he heard grunting and muttering phrases like, “This is _not_ delightful.” But if it was a body bag, at least the bodies inside were obviously alive, so Ford figured he didn't have to worry. 

Besides, he had more important mysteries to crack. Like how to prove that Aaron was totally stealing Ford's future girlfriend. 

 

They dumped out the Nice Girlz in Stan's bedroom in the attic. The Nice Girlz paused for a group pause on the area rug (Roman snapped a picture) and then started wandering around, staring at everything. 

“Your tour bus is so... _interesting_ , Stan,” said Amy 'Agreeable'. “But where are the feeding tubes?” 

“Neat!” called Jamie 'Joyful'. Hey girlz, look – _dust!_ ” She proceeded to lick dust from a beam on the wall. 

“Yeah, ew,” said Gordo. 

The other girls continued exploring the room, petting Gompers, studying the impressive poster collection on the bottom of Stanley's bed, and investigating a sweaty gym sock he'd left lying right next to the hamper. 

“Is this some kind of nut bar?” Daisy 'Delightful' asked, pointing to the sock. 

“Oh, _totally!_ ” said Crampelter, cackling. “Go ahead, eat it!” 

Gordo and Roman laughed, and the three of them started chanting: “ _Eat it, eat it, eat it!_ ” 

She took a bite and Roman shrieked with laughter. “Oh my god she's actually eating it!” 

“Cut that out,” Stanley said, snatching the sock. “That was supposed to be a snack for Gompers later. No eating unless it passes the smell test, got it?” 

“Smell test?” 

“If it smells good, it's probably not gonna kill you. If it doesn't...” He held up the sock to Roman's nose. The guy immediately gagged and curled over, grabbing his throat. Crampelter laughed loudly. 

“So when do we get to go outside?” Laine 'Lovely' asked. 

“I would like to meet all the forest animals,” Samantha 'Scary' said, smiling just a little too wide. It looked more like she wanted to eat animals than meet them. 

Suddenly a car screeched outside. Stanley ran to the window. “It's your producer!” 

The girlz shrieked and immediately dove underneath Stanley's bed, piling under it and trying to pull it down on all of them at once. Gordo snapped a picture with his phone. 

Stanley turned back to the window and Crampelter joined him, elbowing him sharply for space. The dark blue limo parked in front of the Gift Shop, where Ria was sweeping the porch. Mr. Bratman got out, scowling.

“I can't believe those girlz escaped from their cage! _You_ there!” He pointed at Ria. “Have you seen any perfect girlz around here?” 

“Only when I look in the mirror,” Ria said, smiling. She held up her hand. “Up top!” 

Mr. Bratman stared at her. She high-fived herself. 

“They must be around her somewhere,” he growled. “I'll find them if I have to turn this town upside down!” 

Gompers, who had somehow wandered outside, bleated and chewed the license plate off the limo. Mr. Bratman yelled at it, waving his cane, then gave up and just got back in the car. He was still scowling and coughing as the limo drove away. 

“Sweet, we got away with it!” Stanley said. 

“Yeah, now those girlz belong to us,” Crampelter said. There was something kind of nasty in his smile. 

“We should still probably stay inside though,” Stanley added, turning to the girlz. “I mean, he's still out there looking for you guys.” 

Jamie 'Joyful' peeked out from under the bed. “Wh-what do we do?” 

“I'm scared!” 

“Aw dang!” 

Stanley rolled his eyes. “Calm down. He didn't find you, did he? Part of the fun of breaking the rules is getting away with it! This is the _fun part._ All's ya gotta do is hang out with us until Bratman gives up.” 

“Yeah,” Crampelter said. “After that, you can do whatever you want!” 

The girlz cheered. Crampelter pulled out a camera. 

“In the meantime...who wants to do a spontaneous music video that we can sell online for a hundred bucks a hit?” 

“OH ME! ME! ME!” the girlz exclaimed, practically falling over themselves to line up for a dance routine. Roman was so excited he actually squealed. 

 

Ford removed his foam safety mask. He'd set up a bunch of heavy-duty equipment from the McGucket Electronics store, which took _forever_ , but it had been worth it. 

“Alright.” He held up the finished product of his labors. “It took all day, but I converted it to a record.” 

Grauntie Mabel was sitting in her yellow armchair, drinking soda. She raised an eyebrow. “That's great, kid, but...why, exactly?” 

“So we can play it really slowly! You can't slow down a song on a normal CD player. I mean, if I have a laptop I could probably download the software for it, but I decided it would be better to borrow all this equipment than rent an actual laptop.” 

“Uh-huh.” 

He grinned. He'd turned the CD into a cassette, too, because it never hurt to have a portable version that he could bring to Seandra. “Now we can slow it down to see if the mind control theory is correct!” He placed the record on Mabel's old phonograph, which he'd kept handy on the Tyrannosaurus coffee table. “Prepare to have your mind blown!” 

Mabel started to smile. “Spit take, here I come!” She sucked a mouthful of soda and held it in her cheeks like a chipmunk. 

He placed the needle on the record and they leaned in, listening, as Ford carefully adjusted the speed.

“ _When I think about you, I feel feeeeellliinnngss sssoooo deeeep,_ ” the record sang, the vocalist's voice getting deeper the slower it went. “ _Iiiii'mmm tooosssiiinnngg aaanndd tttuuurrrnnniiinnnggg...._ ” 

“Hmmm...” Mabel swallowed. “That's not spit take worthy. What gives?” 

“But – that's can't be it!” Ford played frantically with the speed, toggling it faster and slower. The song warped and wobbled like the singer had a serious stutter. Apparently, though, that really was it. He groaned and shut it off. “Ugh, this was so stupid! Of course there's no hidden mind control. Seandra just likes the song.” He sat down hard on the carpet, still holding the cassette player. “She just likes Aaron.” 

The front door opened. 

Seandra walked in and waved, heading straight past him for the Gift Shop. “Hey Ford, forgot my jacket. Again.” 

Aaron was right behind her, but he stopped in the den and sneered at Ford. “What's up Junior? What're you doing? Trying to come up with an equation to make girls like you?” 

Ford and Mabel narrowed their eyes at him, clenching their jaws. 

Seandra came back in. “Okay, later guys. You ready, Aaron?” 

“Am I!” He followed her out, casting a last glance over his shoulder. “Later, dorks, catch you on the rewind!” 

“I'll rewind your FACE!” Mabel shouted after him. 

_Rewind._

“Wait, Mabel, that's it!” Ford exclaimed, and practically dove for the phonograph. He hit play again, but this time, instead of just slowing it down, he turned it with his finger so the record played in reverse. She quickly took a swig of soda in preparation and they leaned in to listen:

“ _You are now under my control / Your mind is mine..._ ” 

Mabel spewed Pitt Cola all over Ford's clothes. “Holy Hippopotamus! Now _there's_ your spit take!” 

“Haha! I knew it! It's mind control after all!” Ford basked in the glow of his success for literally one second – and then realized the implications. “Oh no – I gotta save Seandra!” 

Mabel leaped to her feet. “Finally! An actual backpfeifengesicht! TO THE BIKE OF IMMINENT VICTORY!” 

 

Stanley frowned at his phone. He'd called Carla a bunch of times the last day, but she still wasn't picking up. It was starting to get weird, hanging out with girlz all day who weren't his actual girlfriend. And Carla loved this band! He'd tried leaving her a message about the girlz being at the Shack, but her phone's invoice was full. That was weird, too. 

He walked down the hall, still frowning at it, wondering if maybe he should go check on her. He'd put the girlz down for a nap a while ago. (They'd been doing that high-pitched giggly thing and it had driven him nuts.) Maybe if he got them set up watching TV or something they wouldn't squeal like that, they'd just zone out like really cute TV zombies – 

“...such a mutant freak!” 

Stanley stopped short, right before he reached the living room. 

“Bet the guy's, like, a seal trying to pass for a human or something,” Crampelter said. “Can you picture him using those stupid hands for flippers?” 

Roman and Gordo laughed. 

“Right?!” Roman said. “Plus he's such a know-it-all. Bet Ford's the teacher's pet at school.” 

“Only if the school keeps _mutants_ for pets!” 

“HEY!” 

Crampelter barely had time to turn before Stanley punched him in the jaw. It was a solid blow that sent him sprawling over the floor. 

“You shut your mouth about my brother!” 

“The heck is the matter with you?” Roman demanded. 

“You shut up, too! Nobody says nothin' bad about my family!” 

“Don't be such a loser,” Gordo snapped at him. “You're always such a pansy. 'Don't burn down my house! Don't insult my family!' Like, get a _life._ ” 

Stanley stared at him. “What the actual he–”

_BAM._

Crampelter had recovered and kicked Stanley's face when he wasn't expecting it. Stanley stumbled and went down, banging his head on the TV. He looked up through a haze of gray and yellow and saw Crampelter reaching down for him. 

He did it on instinct. He ducked, pushed the TV to send him sliding between Crampelter's legs, hooked one arm around his ankle and yanked. Crampelter went down like a brick, but Roman and Gordo were getting up to join the fight. No way could he take them all on at once. 

He rolled to his feet and sprinted up the stairs. The other three came pounding after him. He faked right and darted into his room, bursting through the door. 

“WAKE UP!” he roared. 

The Nice Girlz jerked awake – all except Samantha 'Scary' Nice, who sat up slowly with a small smile on her face, like a vampire. 

Crampelter grabbed Stan's arm and twisted it. 

“Got you now, you little meathead,” he snarled. 

Laine 'Lovely' sprang to her feet. “Hey! That's not very nice!” 

“Who cares? I make the rules around here!” 

“ _Wrong._ ” Stanley twisted out of his grip and stepped back, the Nice Girlz assembling behind him. “You're in my house now. Nice Girlz...attack!” 

“ _PREPARE TO BE DANCED AT!_ ” they sang, moving in on the three boys. They grabbed them by their arms and carried them out of the room. Stanley followed them down the stairs and watched as they pushed the boys out the door and – nicely – slammed it behind them. Samantha 'Scary' smiled creepily. 

“ _Wooord!_ ” said Daisy 'Delightful'.

The girlz turned away and started heading for the living room, chattering among themselves. (“Did you see how I took his arm?” “I know, you were so nice about how you threw them out!” “Thank you! You too!” “D'you think they'd be nice enough to come back so we could do it again?”) 

Stanley turned to follow them. The back of his head throbbed. His stomach felt weird, too. He'd seen Ford and Mabel leave a while ago. Ria was gone, too. He was glad the girlz were there so he didn't have to be in the house alone. 

He thought maybe he should call Carla again. 

 

Mabel and Ford tore down the highway so fast the sidecar shook like it was going o fall off. Ford checked to make sure that his helmet was still on and the cassette was still tucked securely into his jacket. 

“WE GOTTA WARN SEANDRA BEFORE SHE GETS BRAINWASHED!” he shouted. 

“GOT IT!” she shouted back. “ROAD SAFETY LAWS, PREPARE TO BE IGNORED!” 

She turned the handles violently and the bike screeched, burning rubber, and then shot straight through a rotting wood fence past a sign that read 'No Vehicles'. A tree actually crashed behind them, five feet behind the bike. 

Ford hung on to the rim of the sidecar like he was about to get pitched out – and he almost did, twice. They drove up a steep road, cutting straight through the hairpin turns and failing to dodge low-hanging tree branches. Ford ducked even lower and tried to suck his head into his shoulders like a turtle.

The huge slope of Lookout Point appeared in front of them. 

“LOOK OUT!” Ford shouted. 

“EXACTLY!” Mabel shouted back. She floored the gas. The bike zoomed up the slope. It went straight up and over the chain fence around the top of the hill, and hovered in the air for a split second before coming down with a jolt on the grass. 

“Omigod I'm alive,” Ford gasped, tumbling out. Then he was running flat-out for the only other vehicle on Lookout Point – Aaron's massive and incredibly ugly news van. He reached the passenger side door and skidded to a stop. “SEANDRA! WAIT! Aaron's been lying to you!” 

She rolled down the window, looking confused. “Ford?” 

Aaron looked equally nonplussed. “Nerd-boy? Ms. Pines?” 

“That's _Queen_ Pines to you!” 

“Wait, what?” 

Ford held up the cassette player. “Look, Seandra, you've gotta hear this.” He hit play. 

 

Stanley had played Fake War with Roman and Gordo, so he knew exactly what trick to expect: they'd use a battering ram to get through the front door. (They'd always talked about trying that.) Luckily, Mabel and Ford were still out, and there was still no answer from Carla. It was pretty doubtful she'd come over so late in the day. 

So he'd booby-trapped the porch. 

He was sitting in the living room, teaching the Nice Girlz how to play Monopoly. The rules were: 1) Roll the die. 2) Buy the properties. 3) Give all your cash to Stan. 

Suddenly there were three loud crashes, followed by a lot of fireworks and high, squeaky voices. Stanley left the girlz in the living room and ran to the door. He flung it open. 

Crampelter and the Two Betrayers were flailing around, trying to get out of the minefield of firework poppers and bottle caps he'd spread out on the porch. The battering ram had been dropped right in front of the door. 

“ _What the actual heck?!_ ” Gordo squeaked. His voice was unnaturally high.

Stanley laughed. “Yeah, that would be the helium,” he said. 

“ _I'm gonna get you for this, you loser!_ ” Crampelter shouted. He sounded like an emotional gerbil on caffeine. “ _I got to the Nice Girlz first! They're my pop band! If you don't give them back on the count of three, I'm calling Bratman and telling him exactly where they are!_ ” 

“You do that,” Stanley said, and shut the door on their faces. 

He heard them threatening and saying other stuff, but it was kind of hard to tell what they were saying with voices that squeaky through a closed door. He stood there until he was sure they were gone, then looked out the window to check. 

_So Ol' Crampy thought he was gonna cramp my style, huh? Well too bad, suckah! I've got an Ace up my sleeve – TWO Aces – and nobody wins against_ me!

Although, with what he was about to do, it didn't really feel like a victory. 

 

“ _When I think about you, I feel feelings so deep..._ ” 

“Uh...” Ford banged on the cassette player nervously. Seandra watched him with a puzzled, slightly affronted expression. He started to sweat. “There's a message in there, I swear!” 

Aaron frowned. “How 'bout we just...close the window.” He leaned over Seandra to hit the 'up' button. 

“Wait, wait!” Ford realized the rewind button had gotten jammed during their crazy drive up there. He grabbed it, yanked it out until it clicked into place, and then pressed it, cranking the volume. The tape played backwards. 

“ _You are now under my control/Your mind is mine..._ ” 

Seandra looked stunned. 

Aaron panicked. “Babe, I didn't know about that, I swear!” 

Ford snorted. “Yeah, right. You dropped your cellphone at our house. Check out his search history.” 

He held it up. The password – _NEWS_ – had not been hard to guess, and the search history was full of random ways to use music to influence people to do what you want. The last three entries were all on hypnotism, and the final one even listed the specific song on the CD. He dropped the phone into Seandra's hand. Aaron turned white. 

“Are you kidding me with this?” Seandra whispered, turning slowly to look at him. 

“It was – I didn't – I didn't even think it would work!” Aaron said desperately. “It was just a joke! You were always mad at me, I just wanted you to like me!” 

“No, you wanted to _force_ me to like you, you big jerk.” She threw the phone at his chest and shoved the car door open. “That's it. I'm outta here. Don't call me again.” 

“Wait, Seandra!” 

She stormed off. 

Ford looked at Mabel, gave her a thumbs up, and ran after Seandra. “Uh, wait up! Hey, if you're not busy, I was thinking we could...go, uh, go bowling or something...” 

The look she was giving him was nearly as cold as the one she'd given Aaron. “You guys are all alike, aren't you? You think girls exist to do whatever you want. Newsflash, Ford: _you cannot make someone like you or want to spend time with you_. Get that through your thick brainy skull!” She stomped off, crying silently and wiping away her tears with her fists. 

Mabel shook her head. “I coulda told you that wouldn't work, Ford. And you,” she said, rounding on Aaron. But the guy looked so devastated she just sighed. “Stay away from the Shack, you got me, kid?” 

For once Aaron was too upset to even talk back. He just nodded. 

Ford wanted to gloat, but he didn't feel much in the mood. He kept picturing the way Seandra had looked at him. It made him feel lower than dirt. 

“Aw, c'mon, Ford.” Mabe dumped his helmet on his head. “Everybody makes mistakes. You can say sorry to her tomorrow, once she's had a chance to calm down. For now, uh, how's about we go bowling anyway, huh?” 

He pushed the helmet up. Mabel never took them anywhere fun. “Really? You mean it?” 

“Sure, kid. Hop in the bike and let's go get your brother, okay?” 

 

Stanley walked into the living room. The girlz had stopped setting up the little Monopoly houses and were debating which playing piece tasted best. 

“Hey! You guys – uh, you girlz wanna go outside now?” he asked. 

They looked up excitedly. 

“Outside?” 

“Like, _out_ outside?” 

“With trees?” 

“I'M KISSING A TREE!” 

“Yeesh, alright, alright already! C'mon.” He led them out the back door and onto the lawn. They came out cautiously, like paranoid girlish Fords, expecting the grass to leap up and bite them. A ladybug flew past and touched Laine 'Lovely' and she shrieked and jumped into Samantha 'Scary's arms, who proceeded to do her usual creepy smile. 

“There are so many living things,” she said sweetly. _That I can kill_ , was the subtext. 

“Uh, Stan? What's that big round bright thing?” Daisy 'Delightful' asked nervously. 

“It's the sun. _Duh._ ” He pointed to the forest. “Now git already! Time is money here, people!” 

“Are we going to make money in the forest?” 

“Not for Bratman you aren't. Or Crampelter. But if you ever come up with a new hit single, you let me know. I'll hook you up with all the dirty socks you want.” 

Amy 'Agreeable' squealed with delight. 

Jamie 'Joyful' was edging towards the forest. “So...it's okay?” she asked slowly, her face growing brighter by the second. “We can just... _go?_ Just be free?” 

“Yeah, pretty much.” 

“ _Thanks_ , Stan!” 

The five of them made a mad dash for the trees, laughing and grabbing each other's hands. But when they reached the treeline, they turned, waved, and sang, “ _Goodbye, Staaaan._ ” Then they melted into the shadows until there wasn't a single trace left. 

Stan kicked an empty soda can and sat down on the porch. 

Crampelter showed up an hour later with Mr. Bratman. Ria had come back and she led them around the Gift Shop, got them to buy merchandise by making them think she'd tell them what she knew, and then told them the honest truth: she knew literally nothing. When they wouldn't leave, she called the cops, and both of them took off in a hurry – something about prior police records and arrest warrants. Stanley, watching from the Employee's Only door, laughed nastily to himself. It was fun when other people did your dirty work for you. He bet Crampy would never show his pudgy face in the Shack again. 

Of course, neither would Gordo and Roman. 

He went back to the porch at the rear of the house and sat down. So Gordo and Roman turned out to be backstabbing bullies all along. So what? He'd dealt with people like that back home all the time. Nobody dissed him or his brother, period. And it's not like he was alone. He still had a girlfriend, even if she was currently ignoring his existence. And he still had Ford, even if his brother was off doing whatever, as usual. Anyway, he was fine! Sitting on the porch, minus two friends, a pop girlz band, and (temporarily, anyway) a girlfriend. Alone. Just how he liked it. 

His stomach hurt. 

_HONK HOOONK!_

His head jerked up. Mabel pulled up on her Diablo, with Ford in the sidecar. She braked so hard Ford nearly went spilling over the front and Stanley cracked a smile. 

Mabel flicked up her visor. “Hey Stan, you wanna go bowling with us?” 

He blinked. “Bowling?” 

“Yeah, bowling!” Ford grabbed Stan's helmet from the seat and tossed it to him. “We're celebrating Aaron and Seandra's massive and totally unforeseen breakup. Bet you could wheedle Mabel into buying us ice cream, too! You coming or what?” 

“Like you have to ask!” 

He jammed on the helmet and took a flying leap at the side car, landing with a hard smack on the hard metal front. Mabel laughed and grabbed the back of his shirt, helping him in. He squeezed in tight next to his brother and they roared into town, their laughter lost to the wind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surpriiiiise! Crampelter's in the series! The jerk. 
> 
> Also I FINALLY WORKED IN CARLA'S NICKNAME! BAM I AM SO AWESOME. 
> 
> BTW, anyone want to guess why Stan hasn't been able to reach her on her cell phone? There was a hint early in the episode...!


	14. Girlz Crazy Short

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many anger, much fluff.

“...egged the walls, chopped up the rosebushes, broke one of the windows with a brick...” 

Mabel stood at the front door in a state of shock, listening to the Sheriff rattle of crime after crime. Johnson stood next to him, glowering down at the culprit. Stanley was glaring at his shoes so she couldn't see his face, but his shirt was ripped and he had tell-tale egg yoke stains on his shoulder. His hands were balled into fists, but no doubt his fingertips were stained blue with the Smile Dip powder he'd smeared over the swing set on the Beaver's porch. 

“...and this is Beaver's vacation house,” Sheriff Velasquez was saying. “Our town needs all the tourism it can get. This kind of behavior directed towards an international singer could attract some _very_ unwanted press.” 

“We only kept the Ankers away from it by explaining the same thing to them,” Johnson added. “They practically _drooled_ over the story, too...” 

A creaking noise caught her ear. Mabel glanced up briefly to see Ford at the top of the stairs. 

She turned back. “Officers, I can assure you that this will be dealt with immediately.” 

“It had better. Because if anything of this nature happens again, there will be more serious consequences. I wouldn't put it past Mayor Beffufflefumpter to send a kid to actual adult prison.” 

The blood drained from her face. She nodded. 

She waited until the officers had left, after thanking them several times for bringing him straight home instead of facing the 'fumpter. Then she shut the door and rounded on Stanley. 

“Stan, _what on earth were you thinking!?_ What you did wasn't some harmless prank! We're talking actual criminal charges here!” 

Stanley hadn't once looked up, but his shoulders were bunched like he was ready to throw a punch. She started to get angry. 

“Take this seriously, Stanley!” she shouted. “Harmless pranks, I get, especially when they give the Shack a little extra business. But exploding fairies is way different than vandalizing a house! You cost thousands of dollars' worth of damage! Where am I supposed to get that money from? You think I got a pair of magic money pants?! I can't afford college-graduate lawyer, either! You pull a stunt like this again – I'd rather send you back home than see you go to prison!” 

“That's all we are to you isn't it!?” Stan's scream was so suddenly she jumped. His head snapped up and he glared at her, dry-eyed, his face twisted and mean. “We're just money-sucking leeches to you! Too much trouble and you ship us back! 'Whoops, guess that free child labor didn't work out!' Well fine! FINE! SEND US BACK, SEE IF I CARE! _I HATE YOU!_ ” 

The words echoed. 

For several long seconds Mabel didn't speak. The air was red. The words seemed to dig into her like vicious bees, drilling for her soft gooey center. Her chest felt too tight to breathe. 

She tried to picture this month's Porky the Teacup Pig picture in her mind. When she felt like she could speak again, her voice was low but steady. “Go to the kitchen,” she said very quietly. “Sit at the table and wait.” 

Stan whirled around and stalked past Ford, who had made it to the bottom of the staircase. Ford's face looked even paler than usual. And she caught his hands shaking before he hid them behind his back. 

“H-he didn't mean it,” Ford stammered. 

She softened a little. “Oh, I know he didn't,” she assured him. She felt badly if she'd scared him with all the yelling. “What I can't figure out, though, is why he said it.” 

“W-what're you gonna d-do?” 

She rubbed at her chest. It still really hurt. “I think...I'm gonna make some hot chocolate. You come have some, too, you're shaking like a leaf and I didn't even crank the AC.” 

Ford followed her into the kitchen and sat down next to Stanley, who was glaring at the kitchen table so hard Mabel expected to see a scorch mark any second. She thought about how funny that would be and smiled a little. Stanley's yelling sure stung, but there was no point talking about it when they were both mad and shout-y. 

She took the milk out of the fridge. Thanks to the kids, she always made sure she kept a fresh gallon in there. Good for growing bones or something. It made hot chocolate way richer than just plain water, too. 

She heated the milk on the stove, adding cinnamon, vanilla, and sugar. (You could never have too much sugar.) Before it got hot enough to develop a skin, she took it off the burner, stirred it, and poured three steaming mugs of the stuff. Then she added heaps of chocolate powder to each cup, stirred, and topped them with mounds of miniature marshmallows. By the time it was done, her ears had stopped ringing from the yelling and her chest had loosened with a warm, fuzzy feeling. She loved making desserts for the niblets, and nobody could outdo her cocoa. 

She brought the three cups over and sat down at the table, pushing their mugs at them. “Drink up, kids.” 

They drank. She watched as Ford's shoulders slowly relaxed, and he focused on the chocolate. Stanley glared sullenly at his mug, then grabbed it and chugged the whole thing in one go – mini-marshmallows and all. Mabel drank hers until it was halfway gone. The flavor melted over her tongue and it warmed her tummy. The hurt in her chest loosened up. She set her mug down to let the rest of the marshmallows dissolve. 

“Alright,” she said. “Stanley...tell me about your day.” 

He stared at her. “You've _got_ to be kidding.” 

“Nope. Start from this morning.” 

“Sure thing, _Grauntie,_ ” he said sarcastically. “I put on my big-boy pants and my big-boy shirt and I skipped to school with my lunch box and got a gold star for helping an old lady across the street.” 

“Hey, I'm not _that_ old,” she objected, and Stanley was so surprised that he laughed in spite of himself. She smiled. Her hot chocolate was working already. “Now,” she said, “tell me about your day, for _real_.” 

Stan took a quick glance at Ford. 

“Do you want to talk in private?” Mabel asked. 

Stan's mouth went all hard and he stared at the table and started kicking his chair with his heels. 

Finally he muttered, “Carla dumped me.” 

“Carla _what?_ ” 

“You mean she left you for that Beaver guy?” Ford asked, realization dawning on his face. “That's why you egged his house?” 

“Wait, wait, when did this _happen?!_ The Starla was going so well!” 

Ford looked confused. “The wha...?” 

Stan was doing little jerky movements like he was just barely holding back from punching the table. “Went to a concert,” he gritted out, glaring at his empty mug. “Only Carla had tickets. Me and the Stupids came back –”

“Stupids?” 

“Roman and Gordo.” 

“Weren't you three friends though?” Ford asked. 

“Yeah, _right._ ” 

Mabel's heart did a funny twisty thing. “Are you saying you lost your friends _and_ your girlfriend all in one day?” 

“Lost nothin'! I don't need no stupid losers for friends!” Stan jumped to his feet, locking eyes with Mabel. His eyes blazed with anger, but she knew it wasn't directed at her. “Them and that Crampelter kid can go jump in the Bottomless Pit! And _nobody_ just takes my girl without payback!” 

“Stan, I hate to tell you, but if Carla decided to go with this Beaver guy...that was _her_ choice.” 

“SHUT –”

She waited, braced, but he managed to clamp his mouth shut on the words. She pushed her hot cocoa towards him. “Drink up. I'ma make a second batch.” 

She rose from the table and settled back into the rhythm of making hot chocolate. Geez, this was a really bad problem if it required _two_ batches of the stuff. 

She kept her back turned away from the boys to give them some time together. She could hear little noises that meant Stan was drinking, and the scooch of a chair that probably meant Ford was sitting a little closer to his brother. When she turned around, fresh batch in her hands, she was pleased to see that she was right. Ford and Stan's chairs were so close they practically made one big chair. And both of their coloring had improved, she noted. Ford's looked less pale and Stan's looked less red. Hot chocolate was definitely her go-to solution for solving most of life's problems. 

In fact...

“Hey!” She set the mugs down on the table, a grin spreading over her face. “I know _just_ what to do for a break-up!” 

“Breaking more stuff in general?” Stan asked. 

“No, no, you tried that and it didn't make you feel any better.” 

“Really 'cuz it felt hella good at the time.” 

“What you _really_ need is enough junk food to make you sick and some of the greatest old-timey soap opera films of all time!” 

Stan perked up slightly. “Junk food, you say?” 

“SO MUCH JUNK FOOD!” 

No more than ten minutes later, the three of them settled in front of the TV, each of them with their own gallon of ice cream, bucket of uncooked cookie dough, and all the remaining Summerween candy. Mabel gave Stanley official and ultimate power over the remote control for the next 24 hours. Nothing was on – he claimed – so he immediately flipped it to the Black-And-White Old Lady Boring Movie Channel. The next show was a rerun of _The Duchess Approves_ , followed by _Away with the Change in Air Pressure_ and _It Occurred at the Time When The Sun Went Down_. Perfect romantic movies for all your post-break up needs!

Just before _The Duchess_ started, Ford got up to use the restroom. Mabel leaned forward and tapped Stanley on the shoulder. 

“Just so you know,” she whispered, “if you ever pull a stunt like that again you're grounded for the rest of the summer. And if anyone else breaks your heart, you tell me first. I know how to take revenge without getting caught.” 

Stan grinned, and then his smile slipped a little. “Um...about earlier...” 

“Forget it, kid.” 

He turned and bumped his forehead against her knee, like a little lost pug puppy. “You're the best.” 

“I know it, kid. And you are, too, no matter what idiots like Carla think.” She ruffled his hair. Ford came back a minute later, and they all settled in to watch the movie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S SO FLUFFY I'M GONNA DIE.
> 
> (Three guesses who Beaver is based on...)


	15. The Land That Time For-Goat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiii! Just a gentle reminder that you should not feed animals anything they're not supposed to eat. If you're not sure what they eat, ask a veterinarian. Also check with a vet before feeding them a new kind of food. The stuff Stanley feeds Gompers is normally really bad for an animal. How does Gompers survive it, you ask? Well, let's just say the goat's a tad strange.

Sheriff Velasquez and Deputy Johnson sat behind a billboard, positioned so that they were hidden from speeding cars. It was nighttime, which made it even harder to spot the police car. A car sped by nearly every ten minutes. Most of them were going twice the legal speed limit. 

The officers, however, were focused on something more important. 

“Focus, man, remember your training,” Velasquez said. 

Johnson bit his lip and concentrated. He moved his pencil slowly through the maze they'd found in _Mad Magazine._

“That's it,” Velasquez said, “Easy...easy...you're almost there...!” 

The pencil slipped, and instead of drawing a line to the treasure at the end, it zoomed straight to the shark with an open mouth. 

“Ugh, dang it, not again,” Johnson groaned. 

“Don't worry, man. You'll get the hang of it.” Velasquez grabbed the magazine. “Okay, my turn. I wanna take that quiz on page 10.” 

Johnson smirked. “You mean the one that says, ' _Which Type of Manly Sports Car Are You?'_ ” 

“Dude, I'm tellin' you, I'm a Ferrari!” Velasquez spread his arms. “I mean, look at this! Ferrari for sure!” 

Suddenly there was a horrible shriek. The metal top of their police car was literally peeled off like a ripe banana. The two of them yelled, ducking – but whatever did it disappeared into the shadows of the night, along with the roof of the car. 

“...What _was_ that?” Velasquez asked, slowly sitting back up. 

“Probably something we should report.” 

A grin spread over Velasquez's face. “Sure...after we go for a ride _in our new convertible!_ ” 

Johnson cheered and hit the gas. The two of them sped down the highway, laughing and whooping with delight. 

 

Stanley climbed onto a table in the Gift Shop so he could look out the window and watch Mabel drive away in the golf cart. The 10-seater attachment was loaded with the newest batch of wallets, and she'd gotten every last one of them to sign up for the “extended tour”. 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she said, speaking into the cart's microphone, “continuing our Mystery Tour, you'll see the world-famous Outhouse of Mystery.” 

The tourists _oooohed_ , and a one of them said something, but Stan couldn't hear it through the window. 

“Save all questions until after the tour!” Mabel said. “Now up ahead, if you look _really_ closely – everybody get out your cameras, you're gonna wanna see this...” 

She drove off down the path and out of sight. Stanley grinned and climbed off the table. Gompers was standing on the ice cream cooler, rhythmically gnawing at the wall. 

“Hey Gompers, wanna have an eating contest?” Stanley asked. 

“Ba-a-a-ah,” said Gompers. 

“Sounds like a 'yes' to me!” 

Stanley immediately lured Gompers off the cooler with a sock, then picked him up and carried him around the Shop. Anything Gompers tried to eat – a T-shirt, a bobble head, a rolled-up poster, a rock spray-painted to look like a gold nugget – Stanley would grab and they'd both try and eat it. Mostly they chewed until they got sick of it and Gompers wandered off to try something else. Stanley was surprised at how much of the merchandise was apparently edible. 

After a while of trying to chew a huge polished 8-ball stuffed under a counter, Stanley's jaws were starting to get tired. But rather than concede defeat, he grabbed a bunch of popsicles from the cooler and threw them all over the floor. 

“All right, Gompers, let's see who still wants to eat after their brain is a frozen ice cube!” 

Stanley mowed up popsicle after popsicle, starting with the orange cream ones. Gompers ate five, wrapper and all, before he keeled over, bleating and curling up for a nap. 

Stanley sprang to his feet, triumphant. “HAHA! I won!” he shouted, and immediately all the cold rushed to his brain. He crashed to the floor, sprawled over his pet goat. “Ow, victory is painful.” 

Gompers bleated in agreement. 

Stanley rolled over and pulled Gompers onto his chest to make a blanket. He bunched up a half-eaten T-shirt to use as a pillow. Then he stared up at the ceiling and started slowly falling asleep. 

A sharp pain in his side woke him up. 

“Ow!” 

“Ow!” 

Stanley sat up, Gompers rolling onto his lap. Apparently Mabel had walked in, tripped on him, and went sprawling. She sat up, rubbing her butt. 

“Kid? What the jeckle are you doin' on the floor?” 

“Gettin' brain freeze like a boss!” 

“Gettin'...” She looked around the Gift Shop in dawning horror. “What the frosted pink onion rings did you do to my Gift Shop?!” 

“Gompers did it!” Stanley insisted, holding up the goat. “Gompers chewed up everything! See? See? Why would a human boy eat a T-shirt, that doesn't make any sense!” 

She stood up, growling. “Alright, that's it. Outside, now!” 

Stanley stepped back. “What for?” 

“For ruining my merchandise! I gotta make a living with this stuff and he just destroyed a hundred – uh, two hundred bucks worth of junk!” 

Stanley tried not to squirm. “Well – just sell it as 'chewed by a monster'! You'll probably make a fortune. I can get Gompers to chew more stuff, too!” 

She pointed her cane at him. “He's probably eating this stuff because you're not feeding him properly. Have you even _touched_ that bag of goat feed I bought for you?” 

“Does accidentally hitting it with a baseball count as 'touching'?” 

“No!” She grabbed up an armful of ruined merch and dumped it on him. He flinched and pulled a popsicle wrapper off of his head. “ _Your_ goat, _your_ mess. You gotta learn some responsibility. I can't have that goat coming in here and messing stuff up, I gotta make a living! Either you clean up your act, or Gompers becomes an outside-only goat.” 

 

Ford hopped out of Ria's pick-up truck. “Thanks for coming along with me on this mission, Ria!” 

“It is an honor!” she said happily. “Today I am sweating from heat and excitement!” 

They sat in the open bed of Ria's truck and Ford pulled out his file. He'd created a manila envelope full of newspaper clippings: a police car with a missing hood, an enormous three-toed footprint, a broken fence with a caption describing the missing sheep, and a clipping about mysterious activity in the local mine. He'd found it odd that the activity was occurring at the same time as the other incidents, and suspected that whatever had made the footprint was probably living in the mine. 

He showed the file to Ria. “There's something hiding in these woods, big enough to rip the roof off a car. If we get a photo of this thing, we'll be heroes!” 

“Yes! I will become, if possible, even more beautiful and mysterious, and you will be fighting girls off with a stick!” 

Seandra's face popped into his mind and he blushed. “Shut up,” he mumbled, smiling. 

“With a _stick_ , chiquito!” 

Still grinning, he grabbed the backpack of supplies from the trunk bed and hopped to the ground. “Here, gimme a boost.” 

She followed him. They went to a spot Ford had scouted out where the trees were arranged in a rough circle. A hacked-off tree in the middle that would serve as a platform for the steak they were using as bait. 

They climbed from tree to tree, rigging cameras to focus on the steak. They left some rope dangling to serve as a sensor – if the creature flew past it, it would jerk the rope and trigger the cameras. The clearing started to look like a giant spiderweb with the bright red steak in the middle as the spider. 

Finally, Ria tied the last camera to a tree, then slid down its trunk to meet Ford. He'd finished earlier and was sitting on the lowest branch of the tree, about ten feet off the ground.

“Got it!” she said, peeling her hands away from the bark. Strings of amber sap stuck to her fingers. “Ugh. Is sap supposed to be this sticky?” 

Ford took a couple of sodas out of his backpack and handed one to her. “If everything goes according to plan, the creature will grab that steak, cross through the string sensor, which will set off cameras A, B, and C.” 

“And nothing can go wrong,” Ria said cheerfully. “High-six!” 

They slapped hands. And then couldn't pull their hands apart because Ria's hand was covered in glue-like sap. 

Ford sighed. “This was poorly planned.” 

Suddenly there was a fierce gust of wind so strong it forced Ford's head down. A shadow passed over them, the cameras flashed and a strange roar shook the air. Ford jerked his head up. 

The clearing was empty. The steak, and the ropes attached to it, were gone. The sensor rope was cut in half and dangled, swaying in the wind. 

Ford gasped. He and Ria looked at each other and grinned. _They'd caught the monster on film!_

 

Stanley worked Gomper's hooves through the holes in the fabric. 

They were sitting in the living room with the TV on. Now that Grauntie Mabel had threatened to leave Gompers outside, Stan wanted to keep him inside as much as possible. So after a while of poking around in the yard until she calmed down, he'd brought Gompers back in and started randomly going through Mabel's stuff because he was bored. That's when he found this funky-looking baby thing. It was basically a backpack, but for babies. The word _Waddles_ was stitched on the side, and Stanley figured she'd used it for her pig before it grew up. 

And then he'd thought: Hey, Goat Baby! 

He finished fitting Gomper's legs through the holes and strapped it to his chest. He stood up and flexed. “How do we look?” 

“Ba-a-a-ah.” 

“Exactly! We are the unstoppable Goat Man! HYAAAAAH!” He immediately rammed the yellow chair with his skull and bounced back, laughing. A piece of upholstery caught on Gomper's horns and tore. He pushed it back in place with his foot, then tried the wall next. 

_WHAM!_

He went sprawling on his back, Gompers' legs waving in the air. 

“Wow! Goat-shaped stars! Do goats see people-shaped stars? Haha,” he giggled. “I said 'people'.” 

“HEY YOU!” 

Stan lifted his head. “Me?” 

“SICK OF CONSTANTLY SEEING GOAT-SHAPED STARS?” the TV bellowed. 

“Well not yet, but give it time!” 

“THEN WHAT YOU NEED IS THE GOAT-SHAPED HELMET!” A helmet appeared on the screen. It had hard metal casings that protected the wearer's ears, a seriously cool streak of lighting on the forehead, and two spiky little goat horns protruding from the temples. 

Stanley sat up, wide-eyed. “Wow, I could paint it red and be a devil!” 

A buff guy on the screen put on the helmet. He growled and then ran straight for a brick wall, busting straight through it without stopping. Then he turned and ran for the camera, which shuddered as someone shrieked and dropped it. The screen immediately cut back to a picture of the helmet. 

“BUY A GOAT-SHAPED HELMET! BUY IT NOOOOOW!” 

“I must by a goat-shaped helmet,” Stanley droned. He stood up and de-goat-vested. “Grauntie Mabel!” he called. “I'ma go buy a goat-shaped helmet and some red paint!” 

She called back from the Gift Shop. “Give your goat food first so he doesn't eat my books again!” 

Stan looked. Gompers was currently nibbling on another one of Mabel's Were-Romance novels. 

_An outside-only goat._

Stanley ran upstairs, got a few socks, ran back downstairs, grabbed some carrots from the fridge, and mixed them together in a salad even worse than Mabel's cooking. 

“Gooom-peeers!” he sang. “Here, Gompy, Gompy, Gompy!” 

The goat wandered into the kitchen and started nosing the bowl. Satisfied, Stanley grabbed his car keys and zoomed out the door, slamming it firmly behind him. 

 

Ford and Ria ran into the house. 

“We did it, we did it!” he shouted. “It tripped the wire!” He spun around, holding up one of the sap-covered cameras by the strap. “Somewhere in these cameras is a photo of that creature! I'll go develop the film!” 

“I will make us victory nachos!” Ria said. “Ria and Ford for life!” 

“Yeah!” He raced upstairs. He had a whole dark room set up in the attic. He was just an hour away from newspaper-worthy fame! (And also being Seandra's new boyfriend.) Life couldn't get better than this!

 

“And here, ladies and gentlemen, is our final exhibit.” Mabel led the group to a thick red curtain hanging on the wall in the Museum. “The most _hideous creatures known to man!_ ” 

She pulled the curtain. 

For a split second, the tourists stared forward eagerly – and then realized they were looking at a mirror. They laughed and pointed to it, nudging each other. One of them even took a picture. 

Mabel laughed along with them. “Right? It's hilarious! Okay, but seriously!” She drew them to to the _actual_ final exhibit. She placed one hand on the green blanket covering her masterpiece. “I present to you...the unicorn...made out of corn...the CORN-ICORN!” 

She yanked the drape. She expected to hear more laughter, general excitement, and several cameras flashing. 

She did not expect sounds of disgust. 

She looked back over her shoulder and gasped. Her exhibit was eaten, _literally eaten_ down to the horse-shaped wire frame, with only a few sad dried corn cobs stuck on the little metal knots. 

A little grunt came from the corner and she whipped around. Gompers was sitting there, chewing placidly on a corncob, staring his bland yellow-eyed stare. 

The tourists scowled. Several of them threw down their Gift Shop merchandise. 

“This is outrageous.”

“What a waste of my time!” 

“Can't believe I paid fifty bucks for this!” 

“C'mon, kids.” The oldest tourist grabbed his kid's hand. “We're leaving.” 

“Wait, wait, wait!” Mabel shouted. “I have stickers! And a six-pack-a-lope!” 

The tourists all left and the door slammed behind them. 

Pressure seemed to build up in Mabel's head. She was tired – pulled an all-nighter putting that Corn-Icorn together – all night working on that _other project_ – money was tight – no more tours scheduled for _two whole days_ – and now Gompers had literally eaten her out of today's profits! 

She whirled around. “YOU!” 

“Ba-a-ah.” 

 

The red glow of the darkroom lit Ford's face. His bedroom was littered with trays of photo negatives and strings where he'd pinned up the developed film. By now he'd processed several photos, but none of them showed a picture of anything but blurry trees. It was like the creature was hiding from him even in the film. 

“C'mon, c'mon...” 

He finished the final wash of the next photo and pinned it up to dry. He squinted at it in the half-light. By the look of it, the dark shape filling most of the photo almost resembled...

“A wing!” he realized. “And if Camera B got the wing, then the one that should've gotten the rest is... _Camera C!_ ” 

He hurried over to the trays he'd left on the dresser by his bed. The photo in the last camera was the only one from Camera C he hadn't yet developed. But even as he watched, the image was slowly beginning to darken on the film. A huge, monstrous shape appeared, filling the picture, becoming clearer and clearer by the second. 

Ford leaned over it, his eyes growing huge. “The creature...!” 

_CRASH!_

The door flew open and harsh white light blazed into the room. 

“Who wants victory nachos?” Ria sang. 

“NO!” 

Ford looked down in horror. The light bleached the photo, and every other photo, into utterly useless pieces of white plastic. Every single picture, destroyed in an instant! His future as a scientist utterly obliterated! 

Ria, oblivious to his crisis, actually _laughed._ “Don't worry, Ford, I only ate one-third of them! ...Well, half of them. Just kidding, I ate all of them!” She laughed again. 

Ford ground his teeth. 

 

Gompers would _not stop eating_. She'd tried to shove him out of the Museum and he'd gone straight to her Valentine-Themed knitted curtains in the kitchen and started chewing those instead! And when she'd tried make him let go, he'd ripped them! 

She tried shouting “Bubbles Bubbles Bubbles” as loud as she could, but she was still boiling mad. Nothing in her life ever seemed to go _right_ , all because of that one stupid irresponsible mistake, and now when she was trying to teach Stanley to act better than she had, he ignored her warning – and _she_ paid the price! 

Well, it was high time he learned there were consequences to his actions. 

She picked up Gompers and marched outside. He was still chewing on the curtains so she ended up dragging them along, too, trailing like a bright red cape of doom. She hunted around for a minute on the lawn, found the big wooden stake left over from one of her Summerween Vampire pranks, and rammed it into the dirt with her heel. Then, since Gompers seemed unwilling to part with the curtains any time soon, she took a loose bit of red yarn and tied it like a leash from Gompers to the stake. 

“There. Now you stay out here and don't chew any more of my stuff, you got that?” she ordered. 

Gompers blinked at her, one eye at a time. 

She shivered. “Taking that as a very creepy 'yes'.” She turned and started back to the Shack, already feeling calmer. “'Chewed by a monster,' my fez!” she muttered. “Chewed by a perpetually hungry, out-of-control goat, that's what chewed it. Stanley's gotta learn, there are consequences when you don't act respon–”

_SCREEEEE!_

Mabel whipped around. A sharp wind knocked the fez right off her head and Gompers was squealing with fear as – as he was...

She stared up in disbelief, watching as an actual, real-life, green-and-scaly pterodactyl flew off with Gompers in its talons, the unraveling curtains now waving like a blood-red banner in their wake. 

Then the curtains snagged a tree branch and the yarn stretched taught. The pterodactyl snapped around, swung by its own momentum, and practically dive-bombed Mabel. She dove to the ground, feeling the knuckles of its claws ruffle her hair. 

 

Ford held up the photo in his fist. He was so angry he could feel himself sweating even more than usual. 

“I can't believe you, Ria!” 

She shrank a little. “I truly _am_ sorry, Ford, I was just so excited! Nachos cause excitement!” 

Ford growled and tossed the useless photo aside. Useless – all of the photos were useless! “Look, Ria, if we're gonna do stuff together, you've gotta be more careful! I mean what're the odds we'll get another picture of the –” 

_SCREEEEE!_

Ford's head snapped around so fast he nearly got whiplash. A giant scaly blur dove past the attic window. 

Instantly he and Ria were racing out of the attic, down the stairs, and out the front door, just in time to see a massive dinosaur with a twenty-foot wingspan sail off over the forest treetops, some kind of brightly colored animal in its claws. 

“Wow!” Ford breathed. “Wow, wow, _wow!_ ” 

“What is that, is that yarn?” Ria asked, pointing. Whatever the dinosaur had been doing, it had apparently left a trail of bright red yarn strung across the treetops. 

“This is so amazing, I bet we could track it!” Ford said. Then he turned and noticed Mabel standing on the lawn, her jaw slack, staring after the creature with a stunned look on her face. “Grauntie Mabel! Did you see the pterodactyl? Tell me you saw it! It must've somehow survived for 65 million years! Or maybe it's part of a secret underground society of dinosaurs...” He paused. She wasn't moving. “Uh, Grauntie Mabel?” 

“It took him,” she said faintly. 

“What?” 

“The goat,” she said numbly. “It took him. It took Gompers.” 

Ford had exactly one millisecond to process this before an incredibly ill-timed voice reached his ears. 

“Whadjya say about Gompers?” 

The three of them spun around. Stanley drove up in his car. For some reason, he was wearing a bright red helmet with little goat-like horns sticking out of the top. He hopped out and took off the helmet, tucking it under his arm. 

“Uh, why's everybody looking at me like that?” he asked. “OH! Are we having a staring contest? Cool! Can we bet money? Pouring water in your eyes doesn't count as blinking, right?” 

 

They stared at Stan. Ford started to sweat. What do you say when your brother's goat gets eaten by a prehistoric monstrosity?

Stanley squirmed. “Yeeeah, I changed my mind on the staring contest, this is getting' creepy. Seriously, what's wrong with you guys?” 

Ford cleared his throat. “Well, uh, Stanley –”

“Your goat was stolen by a puh-terodactyl,” Ria said. 

“Ha, ha,” Stan said. “No, seriously.”

“Seriously,” Ford said. 

Stanley looked him dead in the eye and realized it was true. 

“A pterodactyl,” he repeated. “Are you kidding? _Are you friggin' kidding?!_ I was even actually responsible for once and he was inside with a bowl of semi-edible food and _NOW_ he gets eaten?!” He turned sharply to Grauntie Mabel. “You must've seen it, right?! I put him inside! I was responsible! Didn't you notice a raptor in the house?!” 

“It was a pterodactyl, actually,” Ford said. 

“Whatever!” 

“How should I know?” Mabel asked nervously. If possible, she was sweating even more than Ford. “I guess you didn't shut the door all the way and Gompers wandered out. I told you to be more responsible about your goat. Look! He ate my curtains!” She pointed at the string of red thread, which wound up into the treetops, trailing off into the distance. 

“So _that's_ how it left a trail!” Ford exclaimed. “Oh, Stan, this is perfect! We'll be able to find the dinosaur's _lair!_ And rescue your goat,” he added quickly. Because that was also kind of important. 

“Definitely!” Ria said. “Puh-terodactyl Peeps for life!” 

Ford quickly organized the packing. He grabbed the “Adventure Supply” bag he and Fiddleford had made from the lab. It had rope, canteen, first-aid kit, matches, flares, fish hooks, a coil of fishing wire, and a small pocketknife. He told Mabel to lock up the house so the pterodactyl couldn't get back in. He told Stan to pack food and water. (Which probably meant chips, candy, and toffee peanuts.) Ria's job was to tie the metal cage they'd used for the Gremloblin into the bed of her truck. Watching her do it, however, gave him some...misgivings. 

For starters, she'd insisted on spraying “Pterodactyl Peeps” in bright green paint on the side of her truck. Secondly, she kept pronouncing it “puh-terodactyl.” 

“It's pterodactyl,” Ford corrected her, as she finished tying the straps on the cage under the bed of her truck. 

“Not according to my abuelito,” she said, pulling herself from under the truck. 

_Screech!_

“Whoa!” Ria jumped. The truck had randomly started and scooched forward a few inches. “Almost ran over my own head there, haha!” she said. “Uh...wow.” 

This did not bode well. 

Ford walked over to Stan, who was sitting on the lawn trying to jam three boxes of Chipackers into a backpack. 

“Hey, Stan, we gotta talk,” Ford said. “This is a really high-stakes mission and I'm a little worried about Ria coming along on this one.” 

Stanley looked up. “Because she messes stuff up like when she's sweeping and knocks over display cases or tries to install windows like the one in the parlor that she had to replace three times because she kept breaking it or kills fairies with flyswatters?” 

“Uh...yeah.” 

“You're probably right.” Stanley stood up and shouldered his backpack. “Telling someone how awful they are is a terrible burden to bear...so good luck, Sixer!” 

“ _Stanley!_ ” Ford hissed, but his brother scampered for the truck and hopped in, riding shotgun. Mabel got in the back seat. (For some reason she looked incredibly guilty,)

Ria thumped his back. “You ready, Ford?” 

“Uh, listen, Ria –”

“This is going to be so exciting! We'll be fighting and potentially high-fiving dinosaurs! Or high-sixing...or high-fouring, depending on how many digits they have. You think we can come up with a new word for high-fiving with dinosaurs?” 

“Well, maybe, but –”

“Oh! And here!” She pulled something out of the bed of the truck and handed it to him. He held it up. It was a huge white T-shirt with “Pterodactyl Peeps” written in red over a picture of Ford and Ria. “I thought about putting Stan and Mabel on it, but I sorta ran out of space, and anyway you and I were the ones who set up the cameras. I even made it white like your lab coat!” She beamed at him. “So? What were you going to tell me?” 

“Uh...” He glanced down at the shirt, then back up. “Puh-terodactyl, here we come!” 

“Great! Pterodactyl peeps for life!” She cheered and hustled for the truck. 

Ford groaned inwardly. 

 

The red yarn led straight into an abandoned church in the middle of the forest. It was small, about half the size of the Mystery Shack, with a tall slim steeple and peeling blue-white paint. The whole thing was derelict – there were holes in the roof, boarded-up windows, and bits of the walls and steeple had broken off like it had been used as a chew toy. The front door was missing – probably because the dinosaur had used it for an entrance. Its enormous wingspan must've knocked it clean off its hinges. 

They got out of Ria's car. “Why is there a church in the middle of nowhere?” Ford asked. 

Ria shrugged. “Maybe an enormous thingamajig picked it up and moved it here.” 

Ford nodded. With Steve the Tree Giant running around, that theory was surprisingly plausible. 

They followed the trail of red yarn into the Church. The building looked even worse inside: the wooden pews were broken and rotted, ivy and shrubbery grew up the walls and straight through the grand piano in the corner, and the whole place stank of lizard and mildew. There was what looked like a black coffin against one wall, and spiders clogged the chandelier on the ceiling with thick sticky webs. 

Stanley nudged him. “Dude. We should _totally_ get that chandelier before we leave. We could sell the crystals as real diamonds!” 

Mable laughed. “That's brilliant, Stanley! _Pun intended!_ ” They laughed harder. 

Ford focused on the trail. He followed it to a huge hole in the ground in the middle of the church. The air coming up from the hole was stale but oddly warm. 

And then he realized someone was breathing on him. 

“AAH!” 

“ _AAAAAAAH!_ ” 

Ford leaped back as Crazy Chu clambered up from the chasm, her elbows and knees sticking out like a frog's. She grinned at him. “Were you practicing your screaming techniques, too? I do that all the time! Especially at night outside people's houses!” 

“I _knew_ it was you that one time late at night!” Mabel said. “I gotta tell you, Chu, if you want cable, creepin' in people's windows is _not_ the way to get it.” 

Stan shrugged. “Why not? It's free.” 

“Did you see anything go through here?” Ford asked Chu, gesturing to the hole. 

“Why sure! That's the whole reason I'm here in the first place! I was doin' my hourly hootinanny...” She started jigging and slapping her thighs. “...when this ee-normous wiggly critter stole my spoons and flew lickety-split into the abandoned mines down yonder!” 

They peered down the hole. The red yarn dwindled into nothing in the pitch-black shadows. 

Mabel shivered. “Kinda hairy down there.” 

“Don't you mean...” Stanley grinned. “ _Lair-y?_ ” 

Mabel looked rather green. 

Ford caught Stan's eye and nodded. “Alright...we're going in.” 

Chu leaned forward. “Need someone to tag along and tell weird personal stories?” 

“How 'bout no,” Stan said flatly. 

Five minutes later, they'd tied the rope from Ford's bag to the solid iron pipe stove in a corner of the church. It was bolted to the floor, and the rope was pretty strong. Ford was almost 100% certain that it could hold his weight, plus Stan's, Mabel's, Ria's – and Crazy Chu's. 

“So there I am fightin' a raccoon for the same piece of meat, when our mouths get close, and we kiss accidentally!” 

Mabel grunted. “Chu, you are never going to take a hint, are you?” 

“Nope!” 

Ford went first, climbing down awkwardly because he had a lantern hooked over one arm. They inched down over bluish rock covered in lichens and patches of glittering minerals. He glanced up a couple of times to check on Stanley, worried about his fear of heights, but his brother was focused on his hands with laser-like intensity. _Wow. Must love that goat._

The bottom of the pit loomed into view. It looked like there was some kind of leafy growth covering the ground below them, though, and what looked like some kind of puddle. At least they wouldn't have a hard landing if – 

_Ck._

_Crrrk._

_SNAP!_

The rope broke and Ford screamed as they fell. The lantern swung wildly and Stanley was falling next to him and Ford reached out for his arm – 

They landed with a thump that forced all the air from Ford's lungs. It took a few seconds for him to get his bearings. 

The five of them had made a perfect landing on an enormous reddish mushroom. He was holding on pretty tightly to Stan's wrist. He slowly uncurled his fingers, forced his shaking arms to prop himself up, and then crawled over Mabel. He hopped off the mushroom and held up the lantern. Everybody was groaning but looked mostly unhurt – which was great because they'd just landed in a botanist's _dream._

“Whoa,” he whispered. “Guys, guys, would you look at this?!” 

It was a huge cavern covered in massive plants like nothing Ford had ever seen before – plants with jagged-edged leaves, little wiry ferns with pincer-like tips, thick fungal growths crawling up the walls, a few scabby-looking flowers with thick lobed leaves. The giant mushroom had sprouted close to a hot spring lined with rocks at the center of the cavern – the puddle Ford had seen from above. It steamed and rippled as he watched. More hot springs around the edges of the cave suddenly hissed and blew clouds of pure white vapor that stank of rotten eggs. 

At one side of the cavern was a huge wood-framed opening with a single rail track leading deep into the belly of the mines. Ford went up to it, his lantern held high, practically vibrating with excitement. 

Stanley lagged a bit, staring around like a tourist at the Mystery Shack. “Hot Belgian Waffles, this place is awesome!” 

“Oh, a flower!” Ria said, bending down to sniff a weird plant with rubbery pink petals. The instant her face got too close, it spurted a sickly green gas in her face and she gagged. “Welp, guess I lost my sense of smell!” 

Stanley raced over. “WE MUST TEST THIS IMMEDIATELY SMELL MY ARMPITS!” 

“Stanley!” Ford hissed, motioning him to keep his voice down. “We don't know what's down there!” 

“You mean down the huge creepy tunnel that smells like wet mold?” Mabel asked. She eyed the huge entrance uneasily. 

Chu cackled. “Only one way to find out!” 

Ford led the way, lantern held aloft, following the red thread that wound over the ground. (He was slightly amazed that there'd been this much yarn in Mabel's curtains, but then again, the woman knitted like a fiend.) They walked for about a minute before the tunnel opened into an even more massive cavern, filled with – 

“TYRANNOSAURUS!” 

They screamed and Mabel grabbed them and yanked them close and – 

And...

Nothing happened. 

Ford cracked open an eye. 

The tyrannosaurus was glaring straight at them, its huge mouth opened wide enough to swallow a city bus. But it wasn't moving an inch, and its eyes were filmed over in a glassy stare. Actually, the whole dinosaur was filmed over, encased in an enormous column of amber, with globs of amber frozen in mid-ooze along the sides and bottom. Like someone had tried to make a huge T-rex candle. 

Mabel stood up and Crazy Chu, who had jumped onto Mabel's back, clambered off and poked at the amber. Then she stuck it into her ear. 

“Ha! It's just like earwax!” she cackled. 

Ford bent closer and touched it. It wasn't exactly soft, but there was a little give under his finger. He walked on, looking around. There were dozens of huge columns of amber, each one encasing a massive prehistoric dinosaur. “They're all trapped inside tree sap! That's how they survived for 65 million years!” 

“Duh!” said Stan. “Trembley had the right idea with that peanut brittle.”

One of the columns had a pterodactyl-shaped hole in it, and the waxy substance was dripping as fast as actual candle wax. “The summer heat must be melting them loose,” Ford said. He wished he'd brought his sampling kit so he could test the wax for residual DNA evidence of prehistoric life. Then again, maybe once they found the dinosaur, he could get some actual DNA evidence straight from the source! 

Mabel seemed almost excited as he was. She walked around, grinning and rubbing her hands together. “Forget the Corn-Icorn, this is the attraction of a lifetime! I could bring people down here and turn this into some sort of theme park...'Jurassic Sap Hole'!” 

“Uh, everyone?” Ria said. She pointed. 

The mild heat from their bodies and the lantern was starting to melt the sap even faster. One of a raptor's claws had been uncovered...and it was twitching. 

Ford hesitated. 

Stan glared at him. “Ford, if you say 'let's take samples', I will literally drag your sorry butt outta this hole. Let's just keep moving, huh? Before Gompers is Dino Chow.” 

“Okay, okay.” 

They caught up to Mabel, who had found a stegosaurus and positively dancing with glee. “This place could be a gold mine!” she said. She hadn't noticed them walking towards her, and she was talking almost under her breath. “A little rope-tie deal, ticket booth there – I should've put that goat outside ages ago!” 

Stan stopped short. “ _What?_ ” 

Mabel jumped. “Whoa! Geez, Stanley, gimme a heart attack, why don't y–”

“No. _No_ ,” Stan growled, his face darkening. Stan stepped forward and jabbed a finger at Mabel. “ _You_ said I must've left the back door open. _You_ were trying to blame me for Gompers getting eaten. And all this time, _all this time_ you were trying to blame me for something I didn't even do!” 

Mabel started sweating. “Now, wait, uh – i-if you think about it –”

“NO WAY!” Stanley yelled. “My goat could be _dead_ thanks to you! So much for being an animal lover! All you ever care about is money and the Shack! Well I've _had it!_ I'm never speaking to you again!” 

Ford flinched. Stan was really angry. 

“L-look, you can't be serious,” Mabel stammered. 

“OH IS SOMEONE TALKING RIGHT NOW!?” Stanley shouted. 

“Kid –”

“I CAN'T TELL BECAUSE I CAN'T HEAR ANYTHING! LA LA LA LA LA! NO ONE'S TALKING!” 

“Mabel, Stanley, please don't fight,” Ria said anxiously. She suddenly grabbed Ford and squeezed him. “Just be more like me and Ford! Look, we will find Gompers. All we have to do is follow this yarn!” She bent down and picked up the thread from the floor. It led into one of three smaller tunnels leading off the main cave. Ria held up the thread and started wrapping it around her fingers. “We'll just keep following and following...and when we reach the end –”

She stopped. She held the end of the string in her hand. She'd just wrapped the rest of the trail into a neat ball of yarn in her palm. 

“Uh...” She glanced back at the three entrances. “Wh-which cave was it again?” 

Ford practically snarled. “Ria! You lost the trail!”

“Oh, don't worry, chiquito. We'll find our way, trust me!” She slapped him on the back so hard the lantern flew out of his hand and shattered on the floor. “Sorry.” 

All the tension from Stan's yelling had turned into a red ball of fury in his gut. Ford clenched his fists. “Ugh, that is _it!_ I _knew_ bringing you along was a bad idea!” 

She looked hurt. “What do you mean?” 

“I _mean_ , we were on the verge of discovering how a real-life dinosaur captures its food – and also rescue Stanley's goat – and you've messed stuff up for the second time in one day! You ruined our photograph and now you've got us hopelessly lost!” 

“B-but we're Puh-terodactyl Peeps. I made T-shirts!” 

“It's pronounced 'pterodactyl'!” he shouted. “And those shirts are useless, they're gigantic!” 

She gritted her teeth. “I have...a different... _body type,_ Ford!” 

“Oh what, so it's my fault you can't figure out shirt sizes?!” He was off and shouting at Ria but Ria was shouting right back, and then Stan was shouting and Mabel was shouting and everyone was shouting so loud that even their echoes were shouting at them – 

A sharp whistle pierced the air and they looked up. 

“Cheer up, fellas! I fixed your lantern!” Crazy Chu held it up. 

A huge pterodactyl loomed out of the darkness behind her. 

“AAAAAAAAH!” they screamed. 

“AAAAAAAAH!” she screamed back. “Haha, what – what're we doin'?” 

Stanley pointed, and she turned around. She froze. The pterodactyl turned its head and glared down at them with one huge, reptilian eye. Ford stepped back into Stan. Stan grabbed his jacket. 

“Nobody make any loud noises or sudden moves,” Chu said quietly. Then all at once she leaped into the air. “YEEEEE-HAW! WE FOUND A PTERODACTYL!” 

“ _SCREEEEE!_ ” 

The thing lunged for them, jaws snapping. They screamed and ran for the tunnels. There wasn't enough space inside for the beast to spread its wings, but it was frighteningly fast on all fours, digging its claws so hard into the rock Ford could actually hear it cracking. 

The tunnel ended abruptly in a short stone ledge. They skidded to a stop. 

“There!” Ria said, and they dove behind a row of rocks just as the pterodactyl emerged from the tunnel. It gave another screech and took flight, its powerful wings beating the air. 

The tunnel had led out to a huge hollowed-out column of earth that led straight up to natural sunlight. The bottom of the tunnel was covered with more spiky ferns and giant mushrooms. A skinny cylinder of rock rose up in the center of the space, its top level with the ledge where they were hiding. A double-track of rail led from the mouth of the tunnel, across the ledge, out over empty space, and ended at the top of the cylinder...where there was a huge nest of straw, car parts, and bones. In the center of the nest was a massive ivory-colored egg.

They'd found the pterodactyl's lair. 

Ford waited until the pterodactyl swooped out of sight. “Okay, guys, we need a plan to get out of here,” he said quietly. (Taking samples was one thing. He was not looking to get eaten.)

“I got a plan,” Stanley said. “How's about, Ria knits a giant pig costume...” 

“I like it!” Mabel said. 

“And we use Mabel as a human sacrifice!” 

“I – hey, isn't that a little too harsh?!” 

Stanley made a big show of looking around. “Hey did you guys here something just now because I definitely didn't!” 

“Aw, c'mon, I never would've gotten him eaten on purpose!” she objected. “You can't just not talk to me forever!”

Ford leaned forward and tried to catch Stan's eye. “Yeah, c'mon, Stan, we have to work together, here!” 

Ria scowled at him. “Oh, you will work with Stan, but not your buddy Ria?” 

“Ria, can we just not argue about this right –”

“I just don't get why you want to work with Stanley and not –”

“Make one mistake and the rest of your life –”

“ _Baa-aa-aa._ ” 

Stanley jumped up with a gasp. Gompers was peeking over the edge of the nest, absently chewing a car tire. “Gompers! It's _Gompers!_ ” 

He ran out from behind the rock. Ford lunged to grab him and missed. “Stan, wait, no!” 

But Stan ran straight along the tracks towards the dinosaur's nest. 

Ford hurried to the edge of the ledge, everyone else right behind him. 

“Kid, are you nuts?!” Mabel shouted. 

“OH IS SOMEONE TALKING!?” Stanley bellowed, pausing in the middle of the tracks. “BECAUSE I CAN'T HEAR ANYTHING!” 

“Oh no!” Crazy Chu squealed. “He's gone deaf with fear!” 

“Stanley, come back here!” Ford hissed. There was no sign of the pterodactyl yet, but it was only a matter of time before it came back! 

He ran out along the tracks. Mabel, Ria, and Chu were close behind him. The rails were unsteady and bounced up and down a little with each step, but it seemed to hold their weight okay. He tried not to look down – it had to be a four-story drop from here. _Man, Stan must really,_ really _love that goat._

They reached the edge of the nest and pulled up short. Stanley had reached into his backpack, taken out that horned helmet he'd come home in earlier, and was strapping it onto his own head. Then he stuffed Gompers in the newly-empty space in his backpack. 

As disturbing as the helmet was, that wasn't what had caught Ford's attention. The bones he'd seen from the ledge were even more numerous inside the nest. And they were _human bones._

A shiver ran down his back. “Uh, Stan...?” 

“Check it out!” Stanley bent over and dug his feet at the ground. Gomper's head stuck over his helmet. “We can do a double head-butt!” 

“F-fine, fine, but Stan, we gotta get out of –”

A huge shadow passed over them and a chilling scream echoed over their heads. 

“Stan get down!” Ford jumped and flattened his brother just as Gompers squealed and tried to run. He jumped off Stan's back, the loops of the backpack tangled around his legs, and made a mad run for the train tracks. 

“No no, wait, Gompers, stop!” Stan shouted. 

The goat ran straight for Mabel and jumped, hitting her hard in the chest. 

She caught him, wincing. “Agh! That hurt!” 

The pterodactyl swooped down. 

“MABEL NO WATCH OUT!” Ford and Stan screamed. She looked up and rolled just as the dinosaur struck at the rails. It missed her but the impact made the rails swing wildly. They jolted Mabel right off the track! 

“OH NO!” 

“GRANTIE MABEL!” 

“MS. PINES!” 

“AAAAAAAAAAH!” 

She plummeted into the foliage below. 

“She landed on a mushroom!” Stanley shouted. He grabbed Ford's arm. “You saw it right? She landed on a mushroom! So she's fine, right?!” 

“Get down!” Ria grabbed them both and pulled them away from the edge. The pterodactyl swooped straight up, its talons clawing the edges of the nest. It dropped Mabel's fez at their feet. 

For a split second Ford's whole body felt cold and frozen – and then he realized there was no blood on the fez. She really might've made it and found cover. Relief poured over him like a cup of her hot chocolate. 

“We gotta save them,” Stanley said, grabbing the fez. 

Crazy Chu's head poked straight up from the straw like a really ugly daisy. 

“Chu, do you have an invention that would distract a pterodactyl?” Ford asked. 

“ _Do_ I?!” She dug herself out and took off her hat and dug around inside it. “...Nope!” 

_Crack._

They jumped. The huge egg in the middle of the nest was quivering and tilting back and forth. Fine lines appeared on its surface. The egg was hatching! 

“Quick, quick, camera!” Ford said, but just then the egg keeled over and the baby 'dactyl shoved its way out. 

It was large by any standards, as big as three manotaurs put together. Its leathery skin was a soft gray with pinkish undertones. Its wings were wet with egg goo. It turned its beaky head towards them, blinking. 

“ _Ch-chee,_ ” it squeaked. 

“Awww,” Ria cooed. 

Crazy Chu beamed and bent down to stroke its head. “Well, welcome to the world, little fell–”

It lunged, snapped Chu up in its jaws and swallowed. 

Stan jumped and Ford screamed and fell back into Ria. She pulled them to the far side of the nest and they huddled behind the broken eggshell. The nest was so small that they were still only a few feet from the dinosaur's tail. 

“D'you think it'll notice if I try to take a sample of its scales?” he whispered. 

Stanley looked at him. “Ford, you officially have the survival instincts of a can of beans.” 

 

Mabel squatted under a giant red mushroom, practically vibrating with nerves. The pterodactyl's shadow kept swooping overhead. Like it was searching for them. Like it could _smell_ them. 

“B-betcha m-m-mama dinosaur's j-just looking for food f-f-f-f-for her baby,” she stammered shrilly. “Just b-being a g-g-good m-mama dino!” 

“ _Baa-aa-aa,_ ” said Gompers. 

She took a deep breath and pulled the goat a little closer. His warmth was comforting and he chewed delicately on her sleeve. “I know, I know. And d-don't worry. I'll keep you safe. You must've been _super_ scared when that big scaly lizard goatnapped you.” 

“ _Baa-aa-aa._ ” 

She nodded slowly, calming down. “You are wise beyond your years, tiny lawnmower. I can always make more curtains, but there can only be one Stanley's Goat.” 

She edged a little farther out from the mushroom and peeked up at the nest. The pterodactyl wasn't anywhere near it, but she knew her family was up there, just as stuck as she was. She'd been tired for years and her patience had run out and she'd just snapped, and now she'd put everyone's lives in danger because a goat chewed her curtains. What kind of grauntie did that make her? What kind of _person_ did that make her? 

She set her jaw and stood. “Don't worry, Gompers. I'm the kind of person who never gives up until she fixes her mistakes, no matter how long it takes. I'll get us out of here and save my family no matter what!” 

“ _Baa-aa-aa!_ ”

“Exactly!” 

The pterodactyl swooped back down, flying straight towards her with murder in its eyes. Gomper's backpack was just a few yards away from the protection of the mushrooms. She and the monster eyed it at the same time. Its eyes gleamed red. 

“You think you can scare me!?” she shouted at it. “I've seen eyeballs way creepier than yours, you suped-up crocodile!” 

She grabbed the goat in one arm and dove for the backpack. She rolled to her feet just as the pterodactyl opened its massive jaws and screamed its hunting cry. 

She grinned fiercely, stuffed the goat in the pack, and lunged for the beast, curling her hands into fists. “BY THE POWER OF MABEL, HAVE AT THEE! _HYAAAAA!_ ” 

 

Stanley sat perfectly still. The baby pterodactyl had lost interest in the emergency rations Ford had thrown at it and was gnawing on some miner's bones. As soon as they moved a muscle, it might see them, and decide it wanted to gnaw some _fresh_ bones. 

“Did it really just eat the prospector guy?” Ria whispered. “That is messed up!” 

The pterodactyl suddenly gagged and Chu popped out. “ _I'm okay!_ ” she said in Korean, and the pterodactyl snapped its jaws shut on her. 

“Oh man, we are so dead,” Stan groaned. “That's it, I'm never gonna kiss a girl, we're never gonna finish the boat, I'm just gonna die young and beautiful –”

“I know!” Ria said suddenly. “We need to get in a straight line!” 

Ford looked at her. “Um, what?” 

“A puh-terodactyl's eyes are so far apart, that if you stand right in front of it, it can't see you!” 

Stan had tried the same trick on Sheriff Velasquez once and it worked like a charm. He nodded. “Great, let's do it!” 

Ford was skeptical. “Ria, you've been wrong about stuff all day. How can we –”

She put a hand on Ford's shoulder. “Look, I know I mess up a lot. I can be a little clumsy, and it's not always as lovable as I think. But please, as your friend, just trust me on this one.” 

Stan knew his brother could get really stubborn about being right, at exactly the worst times. But slowly Ford nodded, even managed a little smile. “Alright, let's try it.” 

They got up and Ria ushered them behind her. They edged slowly around the baby 'dactyl. It was busy chewing on the mail from a busted mailbox. 

“Whoa hang on,” Stan said. “Are we gonna have to go back out on the rail? Because –”

The baby dino whipped around. Ford gave a kitten squeak and the three of them held absolutely and perfectly still. 

The seconds ticked by. Sweat trickled down Stan's neck. 

The dino didn't seem to want to move. Neither did Stan. He was pretty sure his joints had turned to wood. 

Ford nudged him to start walking. Stan kept his mouth shut and made his feet move. He felt like any second he was gonna fall over and they weren't even out of the nest yet. How exactly had he ran across so fast the first time?! 

Ford went first along the rails, then Stan, then Ford. They edged along the metal tracks, moving slowly back to the ledge. Stan was definitely sweating, almost as much as Ford, which was really saying something. It was a lot harder to ignore the drop when he'd just seen Mabel fall. 

“It's working,” Ford whispered. 

Stan mentally shook himself and tried to pay attention without passing out. The dinosaur kept moving its head. They had to jump from one track to the next, edging along towards the ledge the whole time. 

Suddenly Stan slipped and his foot plunged right through a rotting board. Instantly, without bending down, Ford reached and grabbed his shoulder to help him balance. Stan felt like throwing up but his throat was so tight he couldn't breathe. Still in a straight line, they continued down the rail. 

Finally, as they reached the ledge, the dinosaur turned away and began absently chewing a fender. 

Stan waited until the three of them were safely out of sight behind the rocks. Then he face planted and his limbs turned to jelly. 

“Ria, you did it!” he heard Ford say. 

Stan lifted his head and let out a high-pitched giggle. “That was _awesome!_ Can we do it again?” 

Ford smacked him lightly on the head and they laughed. 

“ _SCREEEEE!_ ” 

“It's coming back!” Ford yelled, jumping to his feet. 

“There, wait, look!” Ria said, pointing. 

The pterodactyl was flying erratically around at the top of the cave, bucking and trying to bite something on its back. 

Stan squinted. “Is that...?” 

“ _Mabel!?_ ” Ford cried. 

The pterodactyl flew closer and Stan's jaw dropped. His Grauntie Mabel was riding the dino like a bull at a rodeo, with Gompers strapped to her back in Stanley's backpack. And she was whaling on the dino like a ticked-off pro boxer!

Ford stared, amazed. “She's punching it in the _face!_ ” 

“She's got Gompers!” Stanley shouted, jumping and punching at the air. “GO GRAUNTIE MABEL!” 

Mabel pummeled the dinosaur's skull so hard Stan could almost see its teeth rattle. It shrieked and bucked, flying towards the ledge. 

Mabel balled her hands together and raised them above her face. “From heck's heart I stab at thee!” she shouted, and rammed the dinosaur's head straight down. It screamed, dove, and flew head-first into the rock just below the ledge. Mabel flew off and made a grab for it as the dinosaur crumpled and fell to the ground below. 

“Mabel!” Stan cried, racing for the edge. 

Mabel pulled herself over the edge and stood, breathing heavily, her clothes torn and her face as red as Stanley's helmet. 

Ford and Ria ran over to her, laughing and cheering and exclaiming about how amazing she was. Stanley came up from behind them, looking up at her. 

She smiled at him and took off Stan's backpack. “Here's your goat, kiddo,” she said, handing it to him. 

“Yeah,” he said, still staring up at her. “Oh – OH! Your fez,” he said, and took it out from one of his many hidden pockets. She put it back on her head and grinned at him. 

“So?” she asked. 

“You saved Gompers,” he said wonderingly. His million-year-old grauntie who always complained about her back had fallen two hundred feet and punched a dino in the face, just to save his pet goat. _His_ pet goat. He'd seen it and he still couldn't believe it. 

She shrugged, blushing. “Yeah, well, sometimes you just gotta –” 

“RUN!” Ford shouted. 

The dino had climbed back up the ledge. Its eyes were bloodshot and it was definitely ticked off. They screamed and ran towards the tunnel, its jaws snapping shut inches from Ria's back. Stan grabbed Gompers under one arm and ran as fast as he could, but the dino was right behind them. 

“RUN FASTER!” Mabel shouted, and she grabbed Stan by the arm and Ford by the jacket and ran until Stan's feet were barely touching the ground. 

The pterodactyl was now so close Stan could feel its hot breath on his neck. They hurled straight through the room with all the sap-covered dinos and back through the first tunnel until they were at that cave right below the church. Geysers steamed around them like bubbling clouds of death. The pterodactyl was struggling to squeeze through the tunnels, so they had a few seconds' lead. But the rope hanging down from the church had snapped and Stan hadn't packed his grappling hook. How in the name of Paul Bunyan were they supposed to get out!?

“We're trapped!” Ria shrieked. 

“No wait! There!” Ford pointed to a steaming mineral spring. “Quick! The geyser can shoot us back up!” They ran towards it, splashing their way to the middle of the pool. 

The dinosaur screeched again and they could see its shadow filling the walls. 

“C'mon, go, go!” Ford shouted at the water. 

The pterodactyl launched itself out of the tunnel and zoomed towards them, its huge wings spread wide, its eyes gleaming with madness over rows and rows of sharp white teeth. 

“PTERODACTYL PEEPS FOR LIFE!” Ria bellowed, and slammed her fists intp the side of the spring.

The pressure beneath them exploded in a hot column of water, shooting them straight up past the floor of the church and through the roof six stories above the ground. Stan squeezed Gompers so hard the goat couldn't even bleat and then the pressure just vanished and they fell – 

Stan's brain sort of blanked out, and the next thing he knew he was hanging onto that stupid crystal chandelier, with Gompers looped over its rim, chewing on a crystal. Stan realized he was holding his breath. He let it out, sliding carefully down a slat of broken wood to the floor. Gompers slid down after him. 

Ria stood up from the middle of the grand piano, and Ford sat up very slowly from where he'd landed on a broken pew. Mabel was lying in the ugly black coffin, gasping, one hand over her chest like she was gonna pass out any second. Stan felt kind of numb and giddy at the same time. 

“Duuuude, we just escaped death by dino.” Stanley grabbed Gompers and laughed his head off. 

“Um... _are_ we dead?” Ria asked cautiously.

The front half of the church instantly crumbled. 

Mabel took a deep breath. “No, but if anybody makes any church jokes I will smack them back down the hole.” 

Stan grinned. “Gee, Grauntie Mabel, that sounds –”

“If you say 'holy' you will be the first.”

They pulled each other over the wreckage, picking their way out of the church. Mabel helped Ford over a couple of loose boards and scolded Stan when he tried to give himself splinters on purpose. 

“Hey,” he said, catching her sleeve as they walked to Ria's car. “Um...thanks for saving Gompers.” 

She ruffled his hair. “Ah, well. Can't have my favorite grephew not talkin' to me.” She leaned casually against a tree. “And hey, if I gotta leap onto a pterodactyl and punch him in the face, then that's what I gotta do.” 

“That's kinda sappy.” 

“I know, I'm adorable!” 

“No, I mean...” He pointed. She'd stuck her hand on a bunch of tree sap. 

“Oh,” she said, and she laughed and stuck her hand onto his face. He laughed with her. And then she tried to pull away and nearly pulled his face off with it. She tugged harder and he tried to pull her off, but they couldn't get loose. 

“OH MY SWEET PANCAKES WE ARE FUSED TOGETHER!” Mabel shouted. 

“Cool!” Stanley said. His voice was a little muffled. “Are we gonna get mutant sap powers?!” 

 

Ford rode shotgun on the way back to the Shack. Stan and Mabel had eventually unstuck themselves, and were now snoring in the backseat, leaning on each other with Gompers spread over their laps like a furry blanket. Ford grinned a little and went back to checking himself over for injuries. 

“Whoa, check it out!” he exclaimed, holding up his jacket. “A real dinosaur tooth!” 

“Al- _right!_ ” Ria said. “You sure you're gonna be okay with that jacket? I know how much you like it.” 

“I can get Mabel to patch it up.” Mentioning her reminded him how good it felt that she and Stan were talking again. Until they'd mended fences, he hadn't realized how uncomfortable it felt when they were at odds. 

Speaking of which...

He cleared his throat. “Hey, uh...thanks for saving us back there. That was pretty awesome. Pterodactyl peeps?” He held up his hand for a fist-bump. 

Ria smiled. “Pterodactyl peeps.” 

They fist-bumped and made quiet explosion noises. 

“Hey!” she said. “I even pronounced it right that time!” 

“Do you think we need to worry about the rest of those dinosaurs?” 

“I doubt it. Those things have been down there for 65 million years. Unless global warming is real, there's no way the sap would just happen to melt this particular summer!” 

“Uh...Ria...” _The sap already melted out a pterodactyl,_ he wanted to say. But when he opened his mouth it turned into a huge yawn. “You know what? It's fine. It can wait until tomorrow, anyway.” 

He slouched down in his seat, his eyes slowly closing. He felt like they were forgetting something, but then again, it had been a _really_ long day. Maybe he was just imagining it. 

 

Back in the church, a strange, ominous rumbling came from below. There was the sound of rock falling, and long, jagged claws scrabbling at the stone. Then – 

Crazy Chu popped up and looked around the church, grinning. 

“Hey, invisible wizard in the coffin! Guess who found my lucky spoons!” She cackled and tapped them madly against the floor and her hand. Out of habit she tapped out the morse code message that had been stuck in her mind for as long as she could – or couldn't – remember. 

-.-- .-. --- --- 

-..- .-. -.- ... ...- .. 

\--. .. .-. --.. -- - --- ...-

Over and over, until the clacking sounds echoed back from the walls of the church and it sounded eerily like the building was laughing.


	16. The Land That Time For-Goat Short

Season 2 Episode 8  
Land That Time For-Goat Short

Stan and Mabel were hanging out in the living room, ignoring the TV and feeding random food to Gompers. Mabel laughed when the goat ate raw carrots from her palm. “Aw, he likes me!” 

“Excellent, he eats vegetables! Now I can feed him all the stuff I hate when you're not looking!” 

“I'm sitting right here, ya know,” she said with a grin, putting a slippered foot on Stan's head and shoving him. He fell over, laughing. “D'you think your dad will let you bring the little guy home?” 

The laughing stopped. “What?” 

“You know, at the end of the summer?” 

He hesitated. “That's, like an eternity away. Who cares!” He flopped on the carpet face-first and made a carpet angel. 

“You know,” she mused, “I'm a little surprised they haven't called. Or sent a letter. Then again, we haven't exactly done that, either. You wanna give 'em a call and say hi?” 

He rolled over. “I _want_ a pair of magic money pants with toffee peanuts and DVDs of famous pro-wrestling matches inside.” 

“That's an oddly specific wish.” 

“Yeah? What would you wish for?” 

“Me? Mmm...” She rubbed her chin, apparently giving this serious thought. “I think I'd wish for...hey wait, I actually _have_ your wish!” 

“REALLY?!” 

“Well, not the magic money pants part...” 

“Aw.” 

“Or the toffee peanut part...” 

“ _Whaaat?_ ” 

She hit him with a pillow. “You got plenty stashed away on the Stan O' War, don't think I don't know about it. No, the part about pro-wrestling. It just so happens that I happen to be friends with the Great Grenda herself!” 

“The who?” 

“The _Great Grenda!_ Only one of the _best_ pro-wrestlers of all time!” She dug around under her yellow chair until she came up with a VHS tape and handed it over. It showed a very burly woman with the most amazing shoulder muscles Stan had ever seen, with an incredible mane of chestnut hair that cascaded down her back like polished fire. The picture showed her putting a much larger man in a headlock and his eyes were all bugged out. 

Stanley grinned. “Now _this_ I have to see. What's the fight for?” 

“This one's for the WWE Cruiserweight Championship. She'd dropped like, twenty pounds of muscle specifically for the fight.” 

“Doesn't that thing have a weight limit of 205 pounds?” 

“Yep!” 

“She _dropped_ to that?” 

Mabel grinned. “Pop it in, Stan the Man, and prepare to see a human tank in action!” 

 

Ford and Fiddleford sat on the roof. They'd spent the last two hours in the lab, working on the perpetual motion machine. Fiddleford had insisted they take a break, so Ford was using the time to fill his friend in on the day's prehistoric adventure.

“...punching it in the face,” Ford was saying. “We got away from it by using a geyser to shoot us back to the surface.” 

“Wow. Ms. Pines is pretty impressive,” Fiddleford said. “I had no idea Stan loved that goat so much. He barely mentions it when we hang out.” 

Ford shrugged. “Hey, I was surprised, too. He actually ran out onto those rotting metal tracks four stories above the ground just to get to Gompers. Not his smartest decision.” 

“Well, his girlfriend _did_ just dump him,” Fiddleford pointed out. “And I haven't seen those two kids he hangs out with in days. He's probably feeling lonely and holding more tightly to the people and pets he still has.” 

Ford shrugged. 

“Speaking of which, I notice he hasn't come up here much anymore. Did...did I do something to upset him, maybe? I don't want to come between you two.” 

“What? Oh, no, no.” Ford waved a hand. “He's just been afraid of heights for a while now, that's all.” 

Fiddleford nodded slowly. “That would explain a few things. But he wasn't like that when I first met him. What changed?” 

Ford shrugged again.

Fiddleford raised an eyebrow. “You're his twin brother and you don't know why he's afraid of heights? Wait –” He snapped his fingers. “Is this about the whole water tower incident?” 

Ford felt like shrugging again, but it was getting repetitive. “Stanley doesn't like talking much about the things that bother him,” he said instead. 

“Huh.” Fiddleford lay back on the roof tiles. “That must get lonely. I talk about all kindza stuff with my dad.” 

Ford looked at him. 

Fiddleford caught him staring. “What?” 

“Nothing.” Then he added, to feel it out, “Your dad seems kind of strict.” 

“Not really. He has a few rules, makes sure I obey them, and that's about it. Home at curfew, call if I'm going to be later, check with him before I do any experiments in the house, eat breakfast every morning. It's one of the most important meals of the day, you know.” 

“Uh-huh.” Ford waited. “And...?” 

“And what?” 

“Nothing.” Ford lay down quickly and looked up at the stars so Fiddleford couldn't catch his eye. _Maybe those really are all the rules he has at his house. I wonder what happens when he breaks the rules_... He shoved the thought away because he didn't want to know. “Remember that one time when you, me, and Stanley made up our own constellations?” 

“Do I.” Fiddleford laughed. “What was the one Stanley came up with? The _Spider of Satisfying Revenge?_ ” 

“That's the one. And there's _Tesla's Coils...The Hadron Collider..._ ” 

“ _The Banjo,_ ” Fiddleford said, pointing. “Isn't it amazing to think that we can only see these constellations because of where we are in space? If we were in a different solar system...a different galaxy...even a different plane of existence, the stars would still be there, but our perspective would have changed completely. We wouldn't be able to recognize anything at all.” 

“You'd get to come up with our own constellations,” Ford said, smiling a little. “But, instead of just being _yours_ , everyone could use them.” 

“What a feeling,” Fiddleford sighed. “I can't wait until we finish building that perpetual motion machine. In a way it'll be exactly the same as renaming the stars – everything will be completely different. A whole new source of energy for people to use for lighting their homes, powering their cars, charting the stars. Everything will be powered by _us_.” He wiggled like someone was tickling his feet. “Imagine being twelve and _changing the world!_ ” 

Ford smiled up at the sky. He could already imagine it. He'd been imagining it for a long time. He saw himself walking through Glass Shard Beach, while everyone who used to make fun of him now watched him with awe. _Look!_ they'd say. _That's The Scientist! I wish I was as smart as him._ He used to think that kind of admiration wouldn't happen until he was older – as in, 'graduated from college' older. But now it would happen much sooner than that. He had no doubt he could work through the math for a perpetual motion machine on his own, of course, but it sure felt good to be doing it with a friend, someone who really understood him on a scientific level. Someone he could talk to as an intellectual equal. He would become a famous scientist much sooner than he'd ever imagined possible, thanks in no small part to Fiddleford. 

And Bill. 

The thought made Ford sit up. Bill had already shown him so much with just that one equation. What else could he tell him? He wanted to hurry and go to sleep so they could talk again. 

He faked a yawn. “I'd better get to bed before I fall asleep and roll off the roof,” he said. “You gonna get home okay?” 

“Oh, sure.” Fiddleford sat up, too. “I was going to ask Ria for a ride. I'm pretty sure she's been hanging out behind that dodo bird by the front door. Either that or watching TV with Ms. Pines and Stanley.” 

Ford chuckled. Typical. While he and Fiddleford were rewriting the future, Stanley was probably hanging upside down watching _The Duchess Approves._

Ford saw his friend to the front door, where Ria had indeed been standing behind the dodo bird. He said goodbye and waited until her car drove away before he shut the door. Then he checked the living room. 

Sure enough, his great-aunt and twin brother were passed out, both of them sprawled on the living room carpet and snoring loud enough to wake the dead. Gompers lay on Stanley's chest, one hoof hooked around Stan's shoulder. It was almost kind of cute. 

Ford grinned and shook his head, starting up the stairs. He had a couple of new theories about how to build that perpetual motion machine. Maybe he could run them past Bill, or maybe recreate the machine in his dreams to see which one would work. Stanley had Mabel to take care of him. But Ford had Bill, the best muse-slash-scientist he'd ever met. What more could he need than that?


	17. BONUS SHORT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a bonus short! Because I love you guys ;)

“Hey, Ford.” 

“Yeah, Fiddleford.” 

“Does Stanley seem...different to you?” 

Ford looked up. They were in the lab-slash-garage they'd made on the lawn of the Mystery Shack, working on their Perpetual Motion Machine. Last night, Bill had told him it would be an important source of energy in the near future, part of what would help him change the world. He was eager to finish it as quickly as possible. 

Stanley was lying on his back in his car on the other side of the garage. Only his feet showed, propped up against the driver's side door. He wasn't asleep, but he wasn't moving or tapping his feet or anything. That was odd, given how hyperactive he could be...but he was probably just asleep or something. 

“He's fine,” Ford decided, going back to his calculations. 

“Does he _look_ fine to you?” Fiddleford prodded him. “Ford, I don't mean to nag, but maybe today's not the best day to work on this.” 

“He's _fine_ ,” Fiddleford said, rather sharply. 

“Alright, you're in denial.” Fiddleford turned and walked over to Stanley. Ford huffed in annoyance. Why did everything always have to be about Stanley? They had a future to make here! 

Fiddleford hung his head over the side of the car. “Hey, Stanley.” 

“Oh, hey, Fiddleford.” 

_Fiddleford?_ Since when did Stanley call him by his actual name?

“You're makin' that car look awfully comfortable,” Fiddleford continued. “You want a blanket or something?” 

“Nah.” 

Fiddleford paused and looked back at Ford, evidently at a loss. Ford shrugged, like, _I told you so. He's fine_.

“You want me to get some food?” Fiddleford pressed. “I could grab some cookies from the pantry. Or get you some toffee peanuts.” 

“Whatever.” 

_That_ got Ford's attention. Stanley, his brother, not exploiting free food service? Not even excited over _toffee peanuts?!_

He shoved himself away from the table and went over to Stan's car. He hung upside down over his brother's head and put his hand on Stan's forehead. “No fever. You must be an alien doppleganger in disguise.” 

“C'mon,” Stan said, batting Ford's hand away. 

Ford caught his wrist. “Gotcha! Alright, Stan the Man, you're coming with us!” 

“'Us'?” Fiddleford asked, as Ford yanked his brother out of the car. “Where are we going?” 

“You'll see.” 

Still holding Stan's wrist, he grabbed a couple of tools off the table and stuffed them into his pockets. Then he knelt, yanked open a draw, felt around in the back, and pulled out a supply back of soda and chips. 

“Hey!” Stan said. “You guys've been holding out on me!” 

“Alright guys, who's ready for sweaty manual labor in the hot summer sun?” 

“Not me,” said Stan and Fiddleford. 

Ford laughed and ran for the door, Stanley still in tow, with Fiddleford right behind him. 

 

Stan was less than pleased when Ford made them run all the way to...wherever it was he was leading them. But they'd all gotten a lot better at running over the summer, and the huffing and puffing didn't leave him a lot of energy to brood over that nightmare he'd had. It was the same one he'd been having for over a week now, and he was getting real sick of the reruns. 

“How – how much farther?” Fiddleford panted, catching Stan's attention. He looked around with dawning recognition. 

“Sixer,” he said, “are – are we going to the –”

The trees broke open into the most beautiful lakeside weather Stan had ever seen. The sun was bright, the breeze was balmy, the water glittered like silver coins – and Ford was leading them straight to the Stan O' War, toffee peanut stash and all. 

Ford paused just before they reached the boat, spun around, and threw his arms out like he was a regular Mr. Mystery. 

“Welcome, one and all, to the Stan O' War!” he cried, and Stan laughed. 

“This is the boat you've been working on?” Fiddleford asked, intrigued. “Did you two put this together yourself?” 

“Sure did,” Stan said proudly. “Got it from Manly Dan after Crazy Chu's giant robot lizard bit it in half. You can still see the teeth marks!” 

“We've been working on it a little at a time,” Ford added. “We still need, you know, most of the boat –”

“A sail –”

“Rudder –”

“Pretty much everything but the mast –”

“But she's got enough wood to paint her name on it, and she's ours,” Stan said with satisfaction. “We haven't been out here too much lately, but she'll be a real beaut when we're done fixing her up.” 

“And that's exactly why we're here.” Ford took the tools out of his jacket and passed them out. “Everybody grab a board from inside the boat. We're gonna finish building the frame so we've got something to shape the wood around.” 

“I don't really know my way around boats,” Fiddleford admitted. 

“Don't worry, you'll be fine as long as your thumb ain't in the way of a hammer,” Stan told him. “Here, lemme show you how to pick up the wood so you don't get splinters. Although, to be fair, splinters can leave some pretty cool scars – I personally like to say I fought a bobcat with my bare hands...”

They worked for hours. The sun passed overhead until their shadows shrunk to almost nothing. Stan and Ford peeled off their shirts, but Fiddleford insisted on buying sunscreen before he did the same. 

“You're never gonna get a girl without a good tan,” Stan said, rolling his eyes. 

“And you'll never get one with all the skin cancer you'll get,” Fiddleford replied primly. “I'm heading to the bait shop and buying a bottle for all of us, my treat. I'll be back in two shakes of a wombat's tail!” 

“The heck is a wombat?” Stan asked, as the nerd trotted out of sight. 

“What?” 

“I said – what are you _doing?_ ” 

Ford's head popped out from underneath the boat. Apparently he'd dug a small shallow out of the sand and dirt and had stuck himself under the boat like a mechanic fixing a car. He was grinning pretty good, too. 

“Oh man, I can't wait to get this thing out on the water. You know what I just did?” 

“If I did, would I have asked?” 

But of course Ford wasn't listening – he always got like that when he was all hopped up on science ideas. “I've invented the greatest underwater cryptid sensor this side of prehistory! I used some of the equations I got from B– well anyway there's these equations that prove that different dimensions exit parallel to ours, and assuming cryptids are all going to worship Stanley and pay him tribute whenever he enters their waters and sing him underwater praises...” 

(Okay, that might not've been exactly what Ford said. Stan was paraphrasing.) 

“Yeah yeah,” Stan said, when Ford finally ran out of steam. “Now again, in English: what are you doing?” 

“I told you,” Ford said impatiently. “It's a sensor to help us detect supernatural creatures. Here, I'll show you.” He got up, brushed the sand off his backside, and led Stan around to the back of the boat. He'd attached some kind of science gizmo to the rail, with slim but sturdy wires attached to the exterior of the boat that led down the side and underneath to the spot where Ford had been working. “If we get the right materials, I can make this thing wireless. But in the meantime, all you'd have to do is stand by the rail and watch the screens. If it spots anything that doesn't function within the normal laws of the physical universe, it'll light up like a menorah on the eighth day of Hannukah. I thought about giving it an alarm, too, but that'd be like getting hit in the head with a ro– _OW!_ ” Ford rubbed the back of his head. He'd just been hit with a rock. “What the heck?!” 

“Well, if it isn't the dork and the loser,” Crampelter sneered. He, Roman, and Gordo were standing a few feet away on a small hill, looking down with identical looks up malice on their faces. “Nice boat, you get it at the dump?” 

Stan flushed with anger. “You would know, Crampelter! Get lost!” 

Crampelter stuck a fat sausage finger at them. “Listen dorks, and listen good. _You're_ a six-fingered freak” – Ford hid his hands behind his back – “and _you're_ just a dumber, sweatier version of him. And you're lucky you have each other because neither of you will ever make any friends!” 

He walked away, laughing, Roman and Gordo snickering and casting dirty looks over their shoulders. Stan couldn't believe he'd ever been friends with those losers. 

He looked down at Ford. His brother was staring at his hand, curling it into a fist. 

He put a hand on Ford's shoulder. “Hey, don't let those jerks get to you.” 

“But I _am_ a freak,” Ford said quietly. “I don't fit in anywhere, not even here – unless I just hid out in the forest with the rest of the weirdness. I can be the smartest guy in history and I'll _still_ be an outcast.” 

Something in Ford's tone gave Stan a dark hollow feeling in the back of his mind. Ford had brought Stan out here to cheer him up. Now it was Stan's turn to do the same. 

“Hey, chin up, Sixer,” he said firmly. “Someday we're gonna sail outta this dumb town. I don't care if it's here or if we carry our boat straight to the ocean. We'll hunt for treasure, find all the krakens and sirens you could ever want, and be an unstoppable team of adventurers!” He struck a pose, puffing out his chest with one fist in the air. 

“You mean it?” Ford asked. 

“Sure! High six?” 

Ford smiled, just a little bit. “High six.” 

They slapped hands. 

By the time Fiddleford returned, they were back to working on the boat. Stan had gotten Ford to tell him more about how his doohicky worked, and whether they could adjust it to look for hidden treasure at the same time. Fiddleford had bought sunscreen and some snacks, so they sat in a circle eating and talking about where they'd like to go. Ford even took off his jacket, and didn't even try to hide his hands, waving them wildly as he told Fiddleford about all the crazy inventions they'd need for hunting and documenting cryptids out at sea. 

_Ha! And Crampelter said we wouldn't make any friends. Fiddleford's such a dork I bet he'll carve “F+F” on that motion machine they've got_.

Stan grinned. Then he stole Fiddleford's chips.


	18. Dreamscapers

Rain hissed and pattered on the roof of the Shack. Ford and Stanley sat cross-legged in the center of their room, playing Battleship. A dozen or so bowls, cups, pans, and a upside-down turtle shell caught the water leaking from the ceiling. 

Ford eyed at the game. “I'm gonna say...B5.” 

“Miss!” Stanley stuck a red peg on his side with a flourish. Ford leaned over. Stan was just sticking in pegs in the shape of a sailboat. 

“Stan, that's not how you play Battleship,” Ford started. 

Suddenly Grauntie Mabel shouted from downstairs. “Kids! Come quick!” 

They raced from the attic to the living room. Mabel was watching TV from her usual spot in the chair, snickering and slapping the armrest. “I need you to laugh at this with me!” 

Bud Gleeful appeared on TV, wearing his glittery pink suit and singing a ditty. 

Ford grimaced. “Uh, Bud.” 

“Remember when I wouldn't hang out with him and he tried to destroy us?” Stan asked. 

“He's always tryin' to trick me into losing the Mystery Shack,” Mabel growled. 

Seandra and Ria walked in. “One time I caught him stealing my moisturizer,” Seandra said 

Ria smiled. “And yet, our mutual hatred bonds us together.” 

On the TV, a flock of doves soared out from behind Bud, and the picture switched to show the Mystery Shack. 

“Opening soon at this location,” said the narrator – and the Tent of Telepathy dropped from the sky and crushed the Shack. 

Ford winced. “Uh, should we be worried about that?” 

Mabel snorted. “Puh- _lease._ The only way Bud's takin' over the Shack is by breakin' in and stealin' my deed.” 

_SMASH._

Seandra looked worried. “You mean, like right now?” 

Mabel got up and strode to her office, the rest of them following close behind. She slammed the door open. 

“BUD!” 

Bud was crouching in the dark in front of Mabel's vault, trying different combinations. The window behind the desk was shattered, and shards of glass glittered on the floor like frozen stars. 

Bud stood up slowly, his well-dressed heels crushing the glass to dust. “Well, well, Mabel,” Bud said silkily. “Mah arch-nemesis. We seem to have entered a dangerous game of cat 'n' mouse. But the question remains...who is the cat, and who is the –”

“Ria, broom.” 

Ria passed it over. 

“Oh, no, not the broom!” Bud yelped. Mabel chased him around the room for a minute until he turned to hiss at her, clawing the air like a cat. She thwacked him with the bristles. 

Mabel herded him out of the office to the front door. Stan was laughing so hard he was doubled over on the floor, but Ford followed his Grauntie to the lobby. 

Bud ran onto the lawn of the Shack, screeching like a mad tabby. Suddenly he stopped and spun around. “You mark mah words, Mabel!” he shouted. “One day Ah'm gonna git that combination! And when Ah do, you'll never see the Mystery Shack again!” 

Mabel laughed. “Keep dreamin', kiddo!” she called, and slammed the door shut. 

“I thought we had a security system,” Ford asked uneasily, following her back to the office. It looked like Stan and Seandra had gone back to the living room, while Ria was in the kitchen fixing lunch. 

Mabel grunted. “Rain must've shorted it out. I'll call Fiddleford tomorrow to have a look at it.” 

“Yeah, but...if Bud tries to get in again –”

“Kid, would you relax?” Mabel pulled open the vault, tossed the deed in, and locked it. “The combo to this safe is in the one place he'll never find it – my brain.” 

She strolled out of the room. Ford turned to leave, glancing uneasily over his shoulder. For a second, he could've sworn he saw a Bud-shaped shadow at the window. 

 

Stanley was flopped on his back in the living room, with his feet propped up on Grauntie Mabel's knees. Seandra and Ford's Nyarf fight had degenerated into randomly shooting each other as they stared at the TV. 

“Oh Louis, my estranged second cousin!” exclaimed the woman on the screen. “I'm so glad you've recovered from your skiing accident in Sweden!” 

The man sat up slowly. “I...I have a confession to make,” he said slowly. “I'm not Louis...I'm an alien clone from dimension 59X!” 

“Booo,” said Stan and Ford. 

“Interdimensional travel isn't even feasible yet,” Ford scoffed. 

“It has nothing to do with the plot!” Stan added. 

“But think of the romance!” Mabel said. “Passionate love between star-crossed species!”

Seandra winced. “ _Please_ don't make more snadgers.”

Stanley sat up and pulled something from under the TV. “How 'bout we watch something we'll all enjoy...Harley's Angels! Where there's hot babes and even hotter explosions!” 

Everyone booed. 

“Suck it up, suckahs!” 

Suddenly a crash came from the kitchen, followed by a yell. Ria rushed into the living room. 

“Everyone, there is a bat in the kitchen!” she cried. “It tried to touch me with its _weird little bat fingers._ ” 

“I'm on it.” Mabel flipped a lever on her chair to make it recline. “Ford, take care of it.” 

“What?” he yelped. Stanley laughed and Ford shot him with the Nyarf gun. “Make Stanley do it!” 

“Sorry kid, life ain't fair. Now go fight a bat so we can watch TV.” 

“No way.” Ford rolled to his feet and stood firmly in front of the television. “You _always_ make me do dumb chores. I'm putting my foot down this time!” 

Stanley grinned and started making action-sound suspense music with his mouth. 

Mabel scowled at Ford. 

Stan did a drum-roll on the carpet. 

Ford growled at Mabel. 

Stan's drum roll got louder. 

Then Mabel pulled a look so fierce she would've made a bald eagle cry. 

Ford jumped back. “Okay, okay, I'll do it!” 

Stanley cheered and made explosion noises. He got up, laughing as he followed his brother down the hall. 

“Do you _have_ to gloat?” Ford grumbled. He picked up a pot and a fork that Ria had dropped on the floor. 

Stanley grinned. “Remember: you are more afraid of bats than they are of you!” 

“Not helping.” 

Ford stepped cautiously into the kitchen, weapons raised. Stanley peered around the doorway to watch. The bat was hanging from the open door of a cabinet, its face covered in strawberry jam. It saw Ford, opened its jaws, and launched, screeching like an angry buzzsaw. 

The ensuing fight completely destroyed the kitchen. Stan made sure to take lots of pictures. He could make a _fortune_ selling those! 

 

Ford winced as his brother wound gauze around Ford's head. He was sitting in a chair in the newly-restored kitchen while Stan and Ria treated his injuries. His many, many, very un-heroic injuries. He was sort of glad Seandra had gone home. 

“Ugh, why is Grauntie Mabel always picking on me?” he grumbled. “Ow!” 

“Sorry,” Ria said, swabbing disinfectant onto his wrist. 

“Haven't you noticed?” he pressed. “The more difficult or dangerous a chore, the more likely _I'll_ have to do it. Why doesn't she pick on you guys?” 

Stanley tied off the bandage. “Maybe she thinks it's hilarious!” 

“Ford, Mabel's personalities is one of life's great mysteries,” said Ria. “Like whether or not it's possible to lick your own elbow.” 

Stanley grinned. “Bet you five bucks you can't!” 

“I bet I can!” 

She held up her elbow and leaned towards it, which of course only moved it further away. Ford watched Ria follow her arm out of the room, Stanley following her and chanting, “Lick it! Lick it!” 

Ford growled in disgust. He got picked on everywhere – home, school, even here. Mabel would stuff him with hot chocolate one day and then force him to fight a rabid squirrel or something the next! What was her deal? 

He was so mad his head was pounding. (Or maybe that was just from when he'd banged it against the counter escaping the bat.) 

“The sink's clogged!” Mabel called. “Ford! Get over here and fix it!” 

Ford's mouth twisted with anger. He grabbed his Nyarf gun, aimed it at a picture of Mabel hanging on the wall, and nailed it right between the eyes. 

 

Stanley wasn't paying much attention to where they were going. It was too much fun watching how far Ria's tongue could stretch. 

“ _Lick it! Lick it!_ ”

Finally she put her arm down, panting slightly. “Like the infinite horizon, it eludes my grasp.” 

“HA HA HA HA HA HA!” 

Stanley jumped and looked around. He and Ria were deep in the woods. It made absolutely zero sense for Bud to be out here, but that psycho laughter couldn't belong to anyone else. They ran towards the sound. 

Bud stood at the edge of a small clearing, where he'd drawn a design in white paint or chalk that almost glowed in the washed-out moonlight. There were candles around the design. At its center was a small picture of Mabel, with a red X crossed over her eyes. A chill ran down Stan's back. What kind of sicko would – 

“Uh – _u-ugh_...” 

Bud's moaning broke through his thoughts. He stepped back and Ria pulled him down behind some bushes. Bud bent double, holding his stomach, then suddenly he was on his knees with his head thrown back. 

“Egassem sdrawkcab egassem sdrawkcab egassem sdrawkcab!” 

With each cry, his voice went higher and higher, but that wasn't the freaky part. The whole world turned black and white, and the wind stopped blowing, and everything just froze up like time itself had stopped. Stan saw a frog stop mid-hop, its wet eyes bulging sightlessly. Normally he'd be grabbing it and jamming it into his pocket for a future prank, but instead his shoulders tensed and he leaned slightly away. What the heck was going on? 

A cold, crazy laughter filled his ears. It wasn't Bud's, but he recognized it instantly from his nightmares. Blood drained from his face. 

A black triangle appeared in the sky above the diagram. Flames blazed from its edges. A giant cat-eyed pupil appeared in its center. Then there was a flash of blinding light and the triangle turned bright yellow, like a little cartoon pyramid, with a bow tie, a top hat, and little noodle arms and legs. 

“What is that?” Ria whispered. 

Stan didn't answer, but all he could think was, Bad news.

Even Bud seemed unnerved. He took a step back as the triangle laughed and looked around. 

“OH, OH – GRAVITY FALLS! IT IS GOOD TO BE BACK! THE NAME'S BILL CIPHER!” The thing swooped down and circled Bud. “AND I TAKE IT YOU'RE SOME KINDA LIVING VENTRILOQUIST DUMMY? JUST KIDDING, I KNOW WHO YOU ARE, BUD!” 

Bud jumped. “Who are you? H-how do you know mah name?” 

“OH, I KNOW LOTS OF THINGS!” His eye grew huge and his voice became deep and distorted, like thunder. Images flashed over his body like a hyperactive slide show. “ _LOTS OF THINGS,_ ” he boomed. Then suddenly he went back to normal. “HEY, LOOK WHAT I CAN DO!” 

He gestured, and Stanley turned to look. A deer was standing nearby. As he watched, it opened its mouth and all its teeth flew out, landing in Bill's hand. Bill tossed them at Bud, who caught them on reflex. 

“DEER TEETH! FOR YOU, KID!” 

Bud dropped them with a yelp and stepped back. “You're insane!” 

Bill laughed. Stan's neck felt cold. “SURE I AM, WHAT'S YOUR POINT?” Bill gestured again, and the teeth zoomed back to the deer's mouth. It bounded away. 

Bud's fists clenched. “Listen to me, demon! Ah have a job for you. Ah need you to enter the mind of Mabel Pines and steal the code to her safe!” 

Bill started to laugh again, then suddenly broke off. “WAIT... _PINES_...” He turned his back, considering. Two images flashed over the triangle's form, too fast for Stan to see. The triangle spun around. “YOU KNOW WHAT? YOU'VE CONVINCED ME. I'M SOLD! I'LL HELP YOU WITH THIS, AND IN RETURN YOU CAN HELP ME WITH SOMETHING _I'VE_ BEEN WORKING ON! WE'LL WORK OUT THE DETAILS LATER.” 

“Deal,” Bud said. 

They reached out and shook hands. Bill's hand lit on fire – _blue fire_ – which spread all over Bud's hand, but it didn't look like it was burning him. 

“WELP! TIME TO INVADE MABEL'S MIND. THIS SHOULD BE FUN!” The triangle spread his arms. Beams of light shot out. “REMEMBER! REALITY IS AN ILLUSION THE UNIVERSE IS A HOLOGRAM BUY GOLD BYYYYE!” 

He vanished. 

Instantly the sound and color turned back on. The sky turned a soft blue-black, wind tossed the tree branches, and that one frog hopped off before Stan could grab it. He jumped. It felt like his eyes had just been closed and he'd been sleeping but now he was awake. Bud and Ria reacted the same way. 

Then Bud started to chuckle. “Well how 'bout that, it worked!” he laughed. 

 

After he'd unclogged the sink, Mabel had made him clear out the possum nest in the rafters of the living room. Luckily the nest had been abandoned, so he hadn't needed to worry about fighting another crazy rodent (today, anyway). Mabel had fallen asleep while he was sweeping up loose twigs and dirt from the living room floor. Because that's always what she did – sit back and gloat while she gave him chore after impossible chore. 

“Nnn, shtop it,” she muttered in her sleep. “Ssstop...” 

Ugh, she was drooling, too. 

“What is going on in Mabel's head?” he grumbled. Probably telling him to stop slacking off, that's what. 

He stalked towards the doorway to put the broom back in the closet. He'd only taken a few steps when Stan and Ria came barging in, panting and red-faced. 

“Sixer!” Stan cried, waving his arms wildly. “We gotta help Mabel!” 

Ford stared at him. “Wait, what?” Mabel was just sitting there in her chair, snoring a little louder. 

Ria caught her breath. “This evil triangle demon said he is going to break into Mabel's mind and steal the combination from his safe!” 

An odd clacking noise accompanied her words. Ford glanced down. 

“Sorry, I knit doilies when I'm nervous,” she explained. 

“'Triangle guy'?” Ford repeated uneasily. He took out the journal and started turning the pages slowly. Was it possible he'd missed something? Was there some other kind of triangular creature in Gravity Falls? 

There wasn't. At least not in the journal. He stopped on the “Bill Cipher” page. 

“'Beware Bill,'” he read aloud. “'The most powerful and dangerous creature I've ever encountered. Whatever you do, never let him into your mind.'” 

But...Ford had _met_ Bill. Bill hadn't done a single thing to hurt Ford – and he'd even shared an incredible, legitimately awesome equation about the nature of the universe. Fiddleford had checked it and was triple-checking it again right now, just to verify everything before they sent it off to be published. Bill had literally handed Ford an equation that would rock the scientific world, without asking for anything in return. Surely the author had been wrong about Bill...right? 

Suddenly Mabel gave a sharp groan. Ford looked up. 

“Grauntie Mabel!” Stanley cried. 

A shadow appeared on the wall above Grauntie Mabel – the unmistakable silhouette of Bill Cipher. It descended smoothly until it reached Mabel's head. Her eyes shot open, blazing with pale blue light, and she twisted in her sleep like she was caught in the nightmare. 

“Quick – gimme that!” Stanley snatched the journal from Ford's hands. “'It is possible to follow the demon into a person's mind and prevent his chaos. One must simply recite this incantation –'”

“Ugh, this is just great!” Ford snapped. “I spend all day cleaning things and fighting bats for Mabel and now I gotta save her from some crazy brain demon? How are you even sure it's the same demon?” 

“Ford, if we don't do anything, Bud might steal the Shack – or worse!” Stan sent him a Look: _We'll have to go home!_

Ford hesitated. 

Mabel cried out, writhing in her sleep. 

“Fine,” Ford said. He turned to his great aunt and set his jaw. “Get ready, guys. We're about to journey into the most horrifying, disturbing place any of us have ever been: our great-aunt's mind.” 

As if on cue, lightning cracked outside. Bright light blazed through the room, followed by deep and ominous shadow. 

“Do you think I can bring my doilies with me?” Ria asked. “Si? ...No? ...I will bring them just in case.” 

 

It didn't take long to set up the room for the incantation. They borrowed a bunch of white candles from the Gift Shop and placed them in a circle around Mabel. Then they turned off all the lights. With so many candles, it was still bright enough for Ford to read the journal. 

“Okay guys, in order for us to save our aunt, we'll have to follow that dream demon into Mabel's mind.” 

“I wonder what Mabel is thinking about right now,” Ria said. She took one of Mabel's hands and waved it in the air. “'Oh, Ria! I love you like a daughter!'” 

“Ria, this is serious,” Ford snapped. 

“Sorry.” 

“Let's do this.” 

The three of them leaned forward and placed their hands on Mabel's head. With his free hand, Ford held up the journal. He read the incantation aloud. 

“Videntus omnium. Magister mentium. Magnesium ad hominem.” Ria and Stan's eyes began to glow blue. Ford felt a faint humming in his skull. “Magnum opus. Habeas corpus! Inceptus Nolanus overratus!” A huge bright light shot from Mabel's head to the ceiling. Blue lightning cracked through the room. A roaring wind blew out the candles. Ford read louder, almost shouting. “Magister mentium! Magister mentium! MAGISTER MENTIUM!” A strange weightless sensation in Ford's gut, and then a sudden flash of light seemed to tear right through Ford's body – 

Suddenly he found himself sitting on a hard, gritty surface. Ford's head felt funny, like he was floating. Then he sort of snapped back to awareness and looked around, attempting to orient himself. 

He, Ria, and Stan were sitting on the ground in front of the Mystery Shack. But it was clearly not the real one. _This_ Mystery Shack was more of an abstract, simplified version of the real thing, with the wide porch going up at a funny slant on one side, a strange square window glowing from underneath the lifted edge, and a lot of upside-down rooms with more glowing windows attached to the roof of the Shack. Even the question mark weather vane was upside down. The bare, gravelly ground lead up to the Shack's front porch – but the ground disappeared behind the Shack in a screen of cottony fog. What looked like a wooden pier led out from the back of the shack and ended in the middle of a vacant space. The forest pressed in around them, but the colors were all muted shades of gray and sepia. It was like they'd stepped into one of her old black and white movies...if she watched horror movies with creepy Skinny Man atmospheres. The moon hung low and heavy in the sky, almost as big as the Shack itself. Ford realized with a start that it wasn't the moon at all, but a magic glowing Eight ball. 

Ria gasped. “What the...” 

“Are those...carnival rides?” Stan asked, pointing. There was what looked like a broken tea cup ride off to one side of the Shack, broken and obviously out of use. One chipped cup spilled out dirt and leaves, which covered some kind of broken machine beneath it. In fact, now that Stanley had mentioned it, there were a lot of broken things clustered around the Shack, like it was some kind of graveyard for random junk. Tree stumps, old tires, lots of loose yarn, even a splintered school desk. Small dark vines grew up through the earth and twined insidiously through the piles, as if seeking to bring the junk down into the earth. 

Stanley moved a little closer to Ford as they walked through the piles up to the porch. “Whoa... _this_ is Mabel's mind?” 

“Somehow I was expecting more...color,” Ria said faintly. Her fingers twitched like she was knitting by memory (Ford had insisted she leave the needles behind). 

Stan's face hardened. “Whatever. Remember, we've got to look out for the triangle guy.” 

“YEAH, LOOK OUT FOR THE TRIANGLE GUY!” 

The three of them jumped. Bill had shot straight down from the sky and hovered in front of the Shack's door, blocking the way inside. He twirled a slim black cane. 

“It's him! It's the guy!” Ria shouted. 

“Bill!” Ford started. “What're you –”

“YOU LEAVE OUR GRAUNTIE'S MIND ALONE, YOU ISOSCELES MONSTER!” Stanley bellowed, and he ran screaming straight for Bill. 

Bill didn't so much as flinch. He held perfectly still as Stanley dove straight for him – and then disappeared into Bill's triangular body. 

“Stan!” Ford yelped. 

Bill took out a giant pocket watch, waited a few seconds, and then Stanley came diving right back out of Bill's body. 

“Gotcha!” he shouted, rolling to a halt. Then he realized he had nothing in his arms at all. “Wait, what just happened?” 

Ford pulled him to his feet. 

“AH, MABEL'S FAMILY, YOU ALL LOOK SO ADORABLE! QUESTION MARK, MACKEREL, SIXER – I HAD A HUNCH I MIGHT BUMP INTO YOU!” He shaped his hand like a gun and a bolt of bright red light shot out of his finger. Before he could move or even think, Bill zapped a hole in Ford's chest. 

“AAAAGH!” he screamed. He looked down at himself with horror. The hole was clean and smooth like someone had cut out part of him with a laser. The sides of the hole were white like he was just made out of the same stuff as his T-shirt. He braced himself for intense pain, but he felt nothing at all. _Right, right, we're in the mind, I'm all right, I'm not dead –_

“Boop,” Stanley said, sticking his hand through the hole. 

“Gah – Stanley!” Ford said sharply, batting his hand away. Having a hole in your chest was weird enough without something sticking through it! “What are you even doing here?” he demanded, glaring at Bill. “What do you want with Grauntie Mabel?” 

“OH, JUST THE CODE TO THE OLD LADY'S SAFE! INSIDE THE SHACK IS A MAZE OF A THOUSAND DOORS REPRESENTING YOUR AUNTIE'S MEMORIES! BEHIND ONE OF THEM IS A MEMORY OF HER INPUTTING THE CODE. I JUST NEED TO FIND IT AND BUD WILL PAY ME HANDSOMELY!” 

“Not if we stop you!” Stanley said. 

“HAH, FAT CHANCE! I'M THE MASTER OF THE MIND.” Bill's whole body lit up with cerulean fire. “I EVEN KNOW WHAT YOU'RE THINKING RIGHT NOW!” 

Stanley scoffed. “That's impossible, no one could guess what _I'm_ thinking!” 

Bill snapped his fingers. Instantly two beautiful women popped into existence on either side of Stanley. One had curly black hair and a chocolate complexion; the other had red hair and rose-tinted glasses. They wore Harley Davidson jackets and black jeans accessorized with spy equipment. They were Harley's Angels.   
“Huh, I thought there were three of them,” Ria mused. 

“Whoa, where are we, Minnie?” asked Kayla, the curly-haired woman. “Is this another heist mission?” 

Minnie batted her eyes at Stan. “Maybe it is...because someone just stole my breath away.” 

Stanley grinned and winked. “Just wait'll I steal your heart, babe.” 

Ford rolled his eyes. 

“YOU'RE OUT OF YOUR LEAGUE, KIDS!” Bill said, gripping his cane. “TURN AROUND NOW BEFORE YOU SEE SOMETHING YOU MIGHT REGRET. LATER, SUCKERS!” He zoomed backwards, crashing through the door and leaving a triangle-shaped hole in the wood. 

Ford narrowed his eyes. What was going on? How did Bud summon Bill? Why would Bill agree to such a deal? Bill had said he only chose one mind a century to inspire – was he going to work with Bud instead of Ford? Was _that_ was this was all about? 

“We're going in, guys,” he declared. “But, uh, Stanley, maybe you should leave those ladies out here. They seem a little...high-strung.” 

They were currently striking action poses and pointing laser lipstick at anything that mood. A squirrel in a sweater darted past and Minnie zapped it. 

“No way! They can help us! Right guys?” 

“Definitely!” they chorused. The bent down and grabbed each other's arms. “Arm Throne!” 

“YEAH!” Stanley hopped onto their arms and they carried him into the Shack. “Now _this_ is what I'm talking about! _Arm Throne! Arm Throne! Arm Throne!_ ” 

“Ford, Arm Throne!” Ria said excitedly, crouching down and holding her arms like a cradle. 

“Um, no.” 

“ _Aaarm throoone!_ ” she called, waddling towards him. Ford shrieked and darted into the Shack. 

The inside of the Shack was even weirder than the outside. It was a huge void filled with foggy gray-brown mist. Dark doors floated everywhere, and stairs led up and down without direction. Most of the stairs were just slats of wood suspended in space – with nothing but a misty abyss below. 

“How 'bout you guys put me down now,” Stan said stiffly. 

They started down the nearest staircase. Stanley walked carefully between Minnie and Kayla. Ria followed, and Ford brought up the rear. He couldn't get over how creepy everything looked. Mabel was always all smiles and glitter and pig-themed puns. So why was her mind all –

“ _No refunds! No refunds!_ ” 

“Aah!” Ford ducked as a flying pig swooped over its head. It was black with bat wings and not at all cute or cuddly. It landed upside-down on a nearby door and blinked at him, one eye at a time. 

They'd entered a part of the Shack that had an actual floor. Halls and corridors slanted up and over each other like a labyrinth, with staircases that seemed to glow a ghostly white in the dark, and hundreds of doors made of rough and blackened wood. 

Ford paused to look at some of them. There was a door labeled “Fear”, heavily chained and padlocked shut, with an angry red light shooting from cracks in the wood and a claymation arm clawing to get free. It was almost a shock to see the red light in such an eerie black-and-white mindscape. Another door was marked “Hope”, with a warm yellow light glowing from the edges, but more pig-bats swooped out of nowhere and screeched at Ford when he got too close. He hurried to catch up with the group. 

Stanley led them down a flight of stairs to a huge hallway marked “Memories”. There was a phonograph just outside the door, and an old-fashioned projector hung facing the doorway, like the one Ford had used at the library. As they walked closer, Ford could see bright panels like artworks covering the walls, even the ceiling and some of the floor. Each panel was like a movie of one of Mabel's memories. 

“Whoa,” Ria said. “Wish I'd brought a bucket of popcorn.” 

“Yeah, we could watch all the memories of Mabel bossing me around,” Ford said flatly. “Can't wait to see more of that.” 

“That'd be awesome!” Stanley said. “But first let's find the code before that stupid triangle does.” 

“Stanley is talking!” Minnie squealed. 

Annie nodded. “This is so much better than just listening to some random guy in my earpiece.” 

“Let's get searching!” Ria cheered. 

They split up. The bright panels only needed a glance to figure out if it was the right memory or not, they skipped those and ran straight for any doors, cabinets, or other hidden places they could find. 

The first door Ford opened showed Mabel sitting in a jail cell. She was still in street clothes, wearing a huge T-shirt dyed in rainbow colors. Her fellow cellmates were wearing shirts, pants, and shoes all patterned in ROYGBV. She grinned at them. 

“I didn't know it was an actual parade! I thought we were just celebrating rainbows!” She hooked her arms around their necks and pulled them close. “Don't worry guys, we're gonna stick together and support the cause no matter what it takes!”   
“I want it to take her far away from us,” one of them muttered. 

“Far, _far_ away.” 

Ford shared that sentiment. He closed the door and looked over to see how the others were doing. 

Ria had opened a rather large door that showed Mabel working in a petting zoo. She glanced around, shifty-eyed, and then quickly started releasing all the animals. 

“You're free now! FREE!” she sang. 

_Whoo-WHOOOOOP._

“Oh no it's the cops!” She ran out of the frame. 

Ria closed the door. “Nope, not that one.” 

Stanley opened one that showed Mabel standing on a hilltop with someone else, silhouetted against the setting sun. 

“Please, do you really have to go?” Mabel pleaded. “We've only just gotten to know each other!” 

The other person's voice was low, masculine, and rough with unshed tears. “I'm sorry, Mabel. But you know I have to follow my heart. And my heart...has to win the US Light Heavyweight Boxing Championship!” 

Ford did a double-take. The other person – the extremely buff, broad-shouldered, _muscular_ person – struck a dramatic pose, her fist raised against the sky, her long hair flowing in the wind. 

Ford's jaw dropped. “What the...?” 

“Aw, sweet, _I_ want muscles like that!” Minnie exclaimed.

“Saaaame,” said Stan. 

They closed it and kept walking. Ford noticed a door on their left etched with a six-fingered hand at the top. The sign on it read: _Ford Memories. KEEP OUT!_

Ford looked up at the hand. “Huh, memories about me.” He cracked the door open, but the hallway inside was pitch-black – no way to see anything from here. 

Ria looked worried. “I don't know if that's such a good idea.” 

“I just want to know what she really thinks of me.” 

Stanley waved a hand. “We already know how she feels about us. She loves us! We're great.” 

“Yes, let's just keep moving,” Ria said. 

Minnie grinned. “More moving?!” 

“I _love_ motion! Especially without motion-activated lasers!” 

Stan lead the way down the hall, checking all the doors, with the Harley Angels and Ria behind him. Ford waited until they weren't looking and slipped back down the hallway. Now was his one chance to find out what she _really_ thought of him. 

He was in a huge dark parlor with uneven floorboards that cast long irregular shadows over the ground. Even though he'd made sure to shut the door behind him, the door from this side appeared open, and the white light that shone through was the room's only illumination. A sign hung near the ceiling read _Ford Memories_. Three more pig-bats hung from the sign, one of them somehow different from the rest. Something about the eyes. Ford shivered and moved quickly past it into the adjacent hallway. 

“Okay, just a quick peek,” he told himself. 

The hallway of Ford memories was a lot more normal – just a dark hallway of gray, gray, and darker gray, the only illumination coming from cracks in the doors and keyholes. Mabel's voice echoed all around him. 

“Stanford!” 

“Ford, go fix the sink!” 

“...in the attic, Ford!” 

He stopped in front of a random door, gathered his nerve, and opened it. 

Ford found himself standing at the back door of the Shack. Ria was sitting on the tacky yellow couch on the porch. Mabel was standing in front of the couch in her nightgown, ordering Ford – the memory-Ford – to go chop firewood. 

“No buts!” she scowled, waving a rolled-up newspaper. “No go chop that firewood already!” She whacked memory-Ford on the head, then sat down to watch as he went over to the wood stump in the lawn. There was already an ax in the stump and some wood stacked up next to it, ready to be cut. 

Ford grunted in disgust. He remembered that. Why hadn't Mabel just asked Manly Dan to do that? Wouldn't it have made more sense to ask a big lumberjack to chop firewood instead of a scrawny twelve-year-old? 

Memory-Ria glanced at Mabel. “Excuse me, Mabel, but I've been meaning to ask you: why are you so hard on Stanford all the time?” 

Mabel's mouth twisted. “Look, Ria. I'm gonna letcha in on something. You wanna know what I really think?” She leaned in to whisper, and Ford leaned in to, trying to hear what she said. “The kid's a loser,” she whispered. “Weak! An utter _embarrassment!_ ” She waved a hand. Memory-Ford had gotten the ax stuck in the wood and was waving it around uselessly. “ _I just wanna get rid of him._ ” 

The hole in Ford's chest felt so, so cold. He slowly closed the door. 

 

Stanley walked down the hallway. This one was narrower than the others and didn't have any memory movies, which made it a lot more boring. But at least they were done walking up and down floating stairs. 

“Hello, code to Mabel's safe!” Ria called. “Where are you?” 

Kayla started opening and closing the same door, her red hair swinging in time with it. “Opening and closing doors is fun!” 

“I can do it also!” Minnie said. 

Ria opened a door, but Stan didn't hear her say anything. Usually she commented on every single one. He glanced back. 

“You okay there, Ria?” 

She shrugged, closing it. “Boring,” she announced. 

Then Stan found a door hanging under a bare light bulb, with the words _TOP SECRET_ written on the wall above it. He grinned. 

“Alright, guys, I have a good feeling about this door!” He wiggled his fingers dramatically and opened it. 

For a split second Stan thought he saw the inside of a futuristic high-tech machine with a zillion blinky blue lights. Then the memory zoomed out and Stan realized he was looking at the back of a broken microwave. Mabel was sitting on the kitchen floor with it, a few tools scattered around her. 

“Dang it, I _told_ Ford not to do experiments with the kitchen appliances! The food always tastes funny afterwards!” She attacked the circuits with a screwdriver. They shorted out and exploded in her face. 

For a second Mabel just sat there, stunned. Then she grinned. “Wow, that would've made a GREAT pyrotechnic special effect! Eh, who needs a microwave. I'll just make the kids a possum casserole!” 

“ _That's_ what that was?!” Stanley yelped. 

They all shuddered. 

“This is bad, we've been searching forever!” Ria said. “What if the triangle guy finds the memory before we do?” 

Stanley rubbed his chin. “Hmm...if we wanna find that memory, we've gotta think like a crusty old con artist with a thing for glitter. She's always hiding stuff, right?” 

Ria nodded. “Yes. Like how she hides her arrest warrants under the rug in the Gift Shop!” 

“Wait that's it! I bet she's hiding it under the rug in the Gift Shop!” 

Stanley raced back to the end of the hallway and took a hard left. If this was the real Mystery Shack, this would be the direction of the real Gift Shop. 

Sure enough, he'd only run down two hallways before they came to one that resembled the Gift Shop. There were even weird taxidermy monsters painted in gray and black paint on the walls, and a couple of containers stuffed with medieval-looking weapons. (Stan remembered stealing a broadsword from the Gift Shop once and convincing Thompson that it was a rare anime collectible, worth $500 easy.) A grayed-out version of the rug covered the floor. Stanley yanked it aside. 

“A door! Guys! Look!” 

Minnie, Kayla, and Ria gathered around him. He pulled it open. 

They were looking down from the ceiling of Mabel's office. Mabel entered the room, the deed in her hand. She was talking to Ford, who was hovering anxiously nearby like a sweaty nerd. (Which he totally was.) 

Mabel put the deed in the vault, her back to Ford, and started to lock the vault, inputting the code two digits at a time. 

“13,” Minnie said. 

“44!” Stanley added. 

Kayla squinted. “And finally...” 

Stanley slammed it shut before they could see it. For all they knew the triangle guy was watching them right now. “Alright, guys, all we gotta do is destroy this thing before Bill can find it.” 

“Won't that mean the deed will be locked in the vault forever?” Kayla asked. 

“Who cares?” Stanley ran to the nearest weapons thingie and pulled out a huge ax twice as tall as he was. He swung it around awkwardly, lifting it higher, ready to bring it crashing down – 

“Wait, you will hurt yourself!” Ria said quickly. “Better let me do it. My big fat arms are perfect for destroying things!” 

“Oh.” 

Stan stood back. Ria stretched out her arm and curled it into a claw, her whole body rigid with concentration. Stan frowned. Wasn't she going to punch it or hit it or something? 

Then suddenly the door to the memory started to rattle. It shook harder and harder until it glowed blue and rattled right up off the floor and floated in the air. 

_What the – ?_

“Hey everyone!” 

Ria ran into the room. Stan's jaw dropped. Two Rias?!

“I just saw a memory of Mabel roller-skating and wearing short-shorts!” Ria exclaimed. “It looked – it, uh...” She caught sight of her double. “Hmm, something weird is going on here.” 

The Ria with the floaty door suddenly laughed. Cold nails raked down the Stanley's back. Ria turned into _Bill Cipher!_

Stanley yelled in shock and Ria jumped away, hurrying over to clutch Stanley's arm protectively. The Angels held each other. 

“BOY, YOU KIDS SURE ARE GULLIBLE!” Bill hooted. “I KNEW YOU'D LEAD ME STRAIGHT TO THE CODE! AHAHAHA... _AHAHAHAHAHA!_ ” He paused. “IT'S FUNNY HOW DUMB YOU ARE.”

“Hey!” Stanley shouted. 

Bill wasn't listening. He admired the memory door and then tucked it behind him so it disappeared into nothing. “THE COMBINATION TO MABEL'S SAFE. BOY, THAT WAS EVEN EASIER THAN I THOUGHT!” 

Stanley snarled at him. “Oh yeah? Well you're a stale nacho with poor fashion sense!” 

“Awesome comeback, Stanley!” Kayla cheered. 

“Hell yeah it was!” 

Bill tipped his hat. “LATER, SUCKERS!” 

“GET BACK HERE!” Stanley roared, but Bill zoomed away, hundreds of doors, drawers, and windows opening in his wake. He zipped straight up the nearest staircase before Stanley could take a single step. 

 

The floor was gray. The walls were gray. The ceiling was gray. Of course it was gray. The whole place sucked. 

Ford jammed his hands as deep into his pockets as they would go, not even bothering to kick the loose floorboards. Wouldn't it be just perfect if he got lost in here and had to listen to Mabel hating him for the rest of eternity. What else did she think of him? That he was a freak? That he was a wimp or a loser or a wuss –

“AGH!” 

Something tried to fly straight through the hole in his chest, but it was too big and it stabbed him with its corners. 

“HEY, WATCH IT!” 

“What the – Bill?!” Ford stepped back. “What are you even doing here? Why would you care about Grauntie Mabel's mind?” 

The triangle took one look at him and snorted. “WELL LOOK WHO SUDDENLY REALIZED HE MADE A BIG MISTAKE. I TOLD YOU NOT TO GO POKING AROUND BEFORE YOU SAW SOMETHING YOU'D REGRET. I'D STICK AROUND TO GLOAT, BUT I'VE GOT BUSINESS TO ATTEND! BUT HEY, IF YOU JUMP OFF A BRIDGE DON'T FORGET TO POST A VIDEO OF IT ONLINE!” He zoomed off, cackling. 

Ford stared after him, feeling numb. He really _had_ warned him. But was Bill actually mocking his misery just now? Was there a Let's-Pick-On-Ford Day he didn't know about? 

Stairs. There were stairs in front of him and the sound of Stanley's voice at the bottom. Perfect . He just wanted to get out of here as fast as possible. 

“C'mon!” Stan was saying. “We've gotta save Mabel!” 

The scowl on Ford's face darkened. “What's the point?” he snapped. Everybody looked up at him. He ignored the others and went down to Stanley. “Why should you save her, huh? I work for Mabel day and night, and all she does in return is say she wants to get _rid_ of me!” 

Stan shook his head. “C'mon, Sixer, Mabel would never say that!” 

“I saw it with my own eyes in one of her memories, Stanley!” He got right in his brother's face. “She's always picked on me, and now I know why! Mabel _hates_ me!” 

The Angels gasped. 

Stan's expression hardened. “Look, it doesn't matter what you saw. If we don't stop Bill, we'll lose the Shack and have to go home.” 

“Then _you_ do it,” Ford bit out. “For once, this is one of Mabel's problems I'm not gonna fix.” 

“Fine. C'mon, guys, we'll save Mabel ourselves.” Stanley stomped off. 

Ria followed Stan, but paused when she reached Ford. “Ford, you're a cool dude, but...this isn't cool, dude.” 

Ford hunched his shoulders. 

When everyone was gone, Ford turned and headed in the opposite direction. Who cared, anyway. _He_ didn't care. He just wanted to find his way out of here. Where he wouldn't have to be an _embarrassment_ to anybody else. 

 

Stan heard Bill talking and motioned for the others to be quiet. He led the way, creeping up the next staircase. It had been easy for him to follow Bill. The dream demon left a trail of open doors wherever he went. And it was easy to sneak up on him, too, since the noise of the memories covered the sound of their footsteps. 

By the sound of it, Bill was somehow talking to Bud again. Stan reached the doorway and peeked around the corner, motioning for the others to hold still. 

Bill's bowtie had somehow turned into a TV screen. A typical place for Bud to be. 

“...the combination yet?” Bud asked. 

“RELAX, SHORT STACK, I GOT IT RIGHT HERE!” Bill took out the memory and flipped the door open. 

Bud cackled. “Perfect! Now give it to me and Ah'll fulfill mah end of the bargain.” 

“FINALLY! IT'S – YOU GOT A PEN THERE?” Bill squinted. “IT'S THIRTEEN...FORTY-FOUR...”

The combination! Stanley whipped around the corner, pulled the weapon from his shirt and shot it with perfect aim. The Nyarf bullet hit the memory dead-center, knocking it from Bill's hand and sending it straight towards one of the doors that Bill had opened. 

“AAAH, NO-NO-NO, WAIT, NO!” 

Too late, the memory flew straight into the memory of the time when Mabel had showed them the Bottomless Pit. The memory – with the combination inside – fell straight into the hole. 

Memory-Mabel blinked in surprised. “Whoa, whatever that was it's gone now,” she said, and the door to her memory slammed shut. 

“JYESSS!” Stanley cheered. 

“The shack is safe!” Ria cried. 

“The deal's off!” Bud snapped. 

“NO NO NO WAIT –”

Bud hung up (or something) and Bill's whole body shattered into a million little demon-pieces. For a split second Stanley thought that would be the end of it right there, and they'd wake up and everything would be perfect and he'd be a hero (not just in his own mind, but someone else's, too – literally!) 

Then Bill's whole body reformed, except there was something really wrong about it. His bricks glowed bright red with rage, and his eye turned black, and the pupil turned as white as a gleaming claw. He turned. 

“ _YOU._ ” 

Stanley backed up a step. 

“YOU CAN'T EVEN _IMAGINE_ WHAT YOU JUST COST ME! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT I'M LIKE... _WHEN I'M MAD?_ ” His voice deepened to a monstrous, thundering roar. His pupil blazed with bright-gold alien symbols, burning like fire against the blackness of his eye. The symbols flicked faster and faster, until Stanley felt his skin prickling with the sheer heat from the demon's rage. The whole place started to shake and roll like an earthquake and the floor underneath them lifted up and smashed them straight through the ceiling, higher and higher and higher until they were standing on a flat stone oval surrounded by the cold black void of outer space. Stan quickly backed away from the edge. 

Minnie and Kayla were still holding each other, hiding behind Ria. Stanley looked up. Bill was growing, growing until his huge shadow fell over the platform. Stan's face froze.

“So I guess he gets really mad when he gets mad,” Ria said. 

Bill glared down at him. He was so vast his pupil was the size of Stan's whole body. He could see himself reflected in it, his eyes wide, his face blank, rooted to the spot. He was too scared to breathe. 

“ _EAT NIGHTMARES!_ ” 

 

The quiet was really starting to get to Ford. 

He'd gone wandering back through the halls, but they seemed to have turned in on themselves while he was gone. Halls that looked familiar now led to rooms he'd never seen. He had no idea how to get out of Mabel's mind. And it was so quiet, like the whole place knew he was there and was holding perfectly still, watching him. He'd started talking aloud just to fill the silence. 

“Exit, hello?” he called. “Just tryin' to find a way out...” 

He was opening doors at random, but all of them led to more memories or more hallways. Then he opened one that led straight back to that stupid memory of Mabel calling him useless. 

Right on cue, he heard her say it. “...useless. Weak. An utter _embarrassment!_ ”

“Ugh, this again?” he muttered. 

“ _I just wanna get rid of him._ ” 

The space where Ford's gut was supposed to be felt even colder. He started to close the door. 

“Yep...those were all things people used to say about me when I was a kid.” 

Ford blinked. _Huh?_

He opened the door again. 

“It was terrible,” Mabel said. “I was the favorite scapegoat on the playground.” 

Something creaked behind him and Ford turned to look. A memory door had opened, showing Mabel as a kid, maybe five or six years old. She was standing on a playground in the rain. A group of kids surrounded her in a circle, pushing her back and forth, trying to grab her and draw lipstick all over her face and clothes. Finally she half-fell and punched someone's nose with her elbow. She broke out of the circle and ran away, sobbing. 

Ford felt like he was watching from outside himself. (Which technically he was, but that wasn't the point.) Mabel got bullied? _His_ Grauntie Mabel? 

She was still talking. “So one summer it got so bad I decided to run away from home. And I found something even worse than the schoolyard.” 

Another door opened. Mabel was climbing off a train when a conductor spotted her. He shouted and she ran for it, racing down alley after alley until she came upon a bunch of kids tormenting a mouse. They were squatting in a circle with the mouse in the middle. They kept blocking it from escaping, pushing at it, poking it hard enough to make it squeak. And _laughing._

Mabel's young-girl face went dark and her hands balled into fists. 

“LEAVE HIM ALONE!” she shouted, and she launched herself at the boys. She beat her way into the circle and scooped up the mouse. One of the boys tried to grab Mabel's backpack and it ripped, sending a flood of confetti poofing into the air. It was her first-ever, totally unintentional glitter bomb. 

Mabel ran up the block until she was out of sight, cupping the mouse in her hands. She paused to catch her breath and carefully opened her fingers. The little guy was squeaking, but he looked alright. She put him down carefully and gave him a cracker from her pocket. 

The older Mabel, the one from the memory of Ford, nodded to herself. “Turns out you can't run away from hard stuff. It'll always be there waiting for you somewhere else. If you want it to stop, you gotta learn to fight it yourself. _That's_ why I'm tough on Stanford. So when the world fights, he fights back.” 

“You think it's actually working?” Ria asked. 

In answer, Mabel held out a hand to the front lawn. The Ford in the memory sliced neatly through the next piece of wood. He gasped with surprise. “Yes! _Yes!_ I did it!” 

Mabel grinned. “He's really comin' along! When push comes to shove...I'm actually proud of him. I guess I should really tell him that.” 

Ria smiled. “I think he'd love it.” 

Ford realized he was smiling, too. He _did_ love it. He reached up to touch the memory. 

The memory rippled and his hand passed right into it. He lost his balance and stumbled onto the porch. 

_Oh no!_ He looked up anxiously. Mabel had already spotted him. She looked from him, then to the memory-Ford, then back to him. 

“Whoa, kid what're you doin' here?” she asked. “Nice hole in your chest, by the way. Let's fix that up.” She pointed at him, and the hole filled in with a warm fizzy sensation. 

He looked down in surprise. “Hey, how'd you do that?” 

She rolled her eyes. “Uh, duh! We're in the mind! You can do whatever you can imagine in here.” She twirled one hand and a soda appeared in her palm. It even popped its own lid open. She drank from it and smacked her lips. 

Ford started to grin. “Well, how about that.” 

“ _HELP!_ ” 

“Stop it! _STOP!_ ” 

Ford jumped. Ria and the Angel's voices echoed down the hallway, filled with terror. A blood-red light flashed through the mindscape. 

“Oh no, what am I doing? I gotta go help!” 

He dashed out of the memory and sprinted down the hall. He didn't know what was going on, or how Bud had managed to make a deal with Bill, or why Bill had agreed to it. But _nobody_ was taking the Shack away from Grauntie Mabel. 

He followed the shouting and the hot red light until he turned a corner. He skidded to a stop. A huge piece of the mind-Shack had been ripped right out, as though someone had driven a wrecking ball right through the building. He looked up. A giant stone Mabel head was floating up in the sky, so far up it looked like a second moon with nothing but cold, icy stars around it. Another flare of light exploded on top of the stone head, followed by a lot of yelling. That had to be where they were! But how was he going to get up there? 

 

Stanley backed up. Filbrick was never this tall in real life. He loomed over Stan like a mountain, drawing back a fist the size of a sledgehammer. 

Stan ducked and rolled away at the last second. The fist swung over his body and hit the stone so hard it made a crack. He tumbled to his feet and turned to run. Instead he ran smack into Ria's stomach. She yelled and forced him down as a giant pair of knitting needles scissored over her head. 

“Who is that?!” Ria shouted, yanking them out of Filbrick's reach. 

“Who cares, run, run!” 

“Run where!?” 

Bill laughed. “MAN, AND I THOUGHT IT WAS FUNNY WHEN THOSE BIKER CHICKS SCREAMED! YOU GUYS ARE A RIOT!” He pointed at them. Red lightning cracked around his body, sizzling down his arm to his finger. “AND NOW TO FINISH YOU OFF FOR GOOD!” 

“No, _no!_ ” Ria yelped. 

Stanley opened his mouth, but Filbrick's shadow loomed over him. Stan's mouth went dry. “P-please –”

“ _HEY, BILL!_ ” 

Stanley looked up. Ford flew overhead like a human rocket, glowing bright blue and grinning fiercely.

Bill stared at him. “WHAT?!” 

“ _NICE BOWTIE!_ ” Ford's eyes glowed for a split second and then he shot _actual lasers_ from his eyes, carving a huge hole where Bill's bowtie used to be. Bill screamed. 

“Sixer!” Stanley climbed out of Ria's grip and jumped for his brother. “You came back!” 

Ford grinned and flew down to meet them. “Hey guys! I just learned that you can conjure whatever you can conceive in Grauntie Mabel's mindscape!” 

Stan stared at him. “English, dude.” 

“Just think of cool fighting stuff and it'll happen. Like _this._ ” He looked at Filbrick, and Stan followed his gaze. Ford pointed and suddenly Filbrick's whole body was being sucked up into the space, until all that was left was the pair of sunglasses. They clattered to the floor. 

Stanley laughed. He snapped his fingers, and a plastic nose popped out of nowhere. “Tada! Groucho Marx glasses!” 

“WHAT? WHO TOLD YOU THAT?” Bill demanded. “DON'T LISTEN TO HIM!” 

Stanley was now grinning even wider than Ford. “So we can do _anything_ , huh? RELEASE THE KRAKEN!” He spread his arms and grew bigger and bigger until he turned into – 

“Oh, what? A _mackerel!?_ ” He looked down at himself in dismay. He was now a giant yellow goldfish. 

Ford laughed. 

Stanley growled, grew six rows of razor-sharp teeth, and swam through space straight for Bill. He took a large chomp out of the triangle and it howled with rage and smacked him away. Stan turned back into his usual self. Ford flew up and caught him in midair. 

Ria smiled. “ _My_ turn! _Super-power-Ria-ninja-multi-gamer-prefix – COMBOOOOO!_ ” 

Thirty or forty Rias appeared out of nowhere. Several of them grabbed the psycho-knitting needles and the others literally body-slammed the demon to the ground. In seconds they had tied him down with a knitted doily the size of the Gravity Falls pool. 

“Dang, Ria's got skillz,” Stan said, as Ford set him down. 

Bill roared. “ENOUGH GAMES!” He tore loose from the doily. The Rias, the needle, and the trap all disappeared in a puff of green smoke. Bill's eye turned into a huge laser cannon and he aimed it at the floor, a searing beam of nuclear energy sweeping towards them. 

“LEGAL IMMUNITY SHIELDS ACTIVATE!” Stan shouted. The others echoed his cry and three clear plastic bubbles (which looked remarkably like hamster balls) instantly encased their bodies. The laser hit the plastic and right back at Bill, zapping him in the eye. The demon howled and fell to his knees. 

Stanley grinned. “Alright, time to bring on the girl power!” He gestured dramatically. “Rise, Minnie! Rise, Kayla!” 

Minnie and Kayla rose slowly from behind him. Minnie held an electric guitar and Kayla sat before an epic drum set hooked up to massive speakers. They slammed their instruments and riffed out the most epic rock song every conceived. 

“AGH, TEEN ROCK MUSIC!” Bill wailed, clutching his ears. “ _IT HURTS!_ ” 

Ford stepped forward. “And now to imagine _your_ worst nightmare! A portal out of Mabel's mind!” 

“ _Out of Mabel's mi-yaind!_ ” Stanley riffed.

“Stanley!” Ford snapped. “C'mon, everyone! Together!” He closed his eyes and concentrated. Stan did likewise. He could hear Ria and the Angels doing it, too, humming as they focused. A huge hole opened under Bill like a gaping mouth, swirling with red and black light, sucking the demon in faster and faster – 

“NO NO NO EEEEEE _NOUGH!_ ” 

Stanley opened his eyes with a start. He wasn't standing on anything anymore. They were just in a huge blank white space, like they were a bunch of cartoons and the animators ran out of ideas for a background. 

Bill took off his hat and polished it on his arm. His blood-red color faded back to yellow. “Y'KNOW I'M IMPRESSED WITH YOU GUYS,” he said offhandedly, as if they hadn't almost beaten his butt. “YOU'RE A LOT MORE CLEVER THAN YOU LOOK. ESPECIALLY THE FAT ONE.” 

“I prefer the term 'pushing the boundaries of conventional standards of beauty',” Ria said primly. 

“ _BUT KNOW THIS._ ” Ignoring Ria, Bill stretched up his hands. The symbol of a pine tree appeared above Bill's top hat. It looked weirdly familiar. “A DARKNESS APPROACHES. A TIME WILL COME WHEN EVERYTHING YOU CARE ABOUT WILL CHANGE. UNTIL THEN I'LL BE WATCHING YOU!” 

He shrank back down to his regular size. The world turned black and a diagram appeared around the demon, drawn in harsh blue lines. Stan gasped, and he heard Ford do the same. It was the same diagram that was carved on the back of Stan's gold coin! 

The symbols on the diagram started lighting up, one after another, faster and faster. The demon seemed to smile gleefully. 

“ _I'LL BE WATCHING YOUUUU!_ ” 

There was a flash of light and he was gone. 

“Yeah, we did it!” Ford shouted. They cheered and high-sixed. 

Then something hissed like the static on a television. Stanley looked down. Their bodies were starting to flicker like a channel with bad reception. Ford's hand was fading into nothing, but he didn't look alarmed. 

“Mabel must be waking up,” Ford said. 

Well, now that the fight was over, on to the _really_ important business. Stan floated over to the Angels. “Well ladies, it was fun while it lasted. Guess I'll see you again in your dreams.” 

They smiled and hugged him. 

“Good one, Stan the Man,” said Kayla. “Good one.” 

 

Ford groaned and opened his eyes. Man, why did the living room carpet always have to smell so funky...

He gasped and sat up. They were back in the living room! 

“JYEAH BOY WE DID IT!” Stanley shouted, jumping to his feet. 

Mabel woke up with a start and rubbed at her eyes. “Geez, did what? I was having a nap here! And there were some...really musical biker chicks in it, for some reason...” 

Ford grinned and threw himself at Mabel. “Grauntie Mabel, you're okay!” 

She looked down at him, startled. “You're hugging me? For reals?!” 

“Nope! It's a chokehold!” He wrapped an arm around her neck and squeezed. They laughed as Mabel worked to throw him off, but she was grinning, too. He hadn't actually squeezed that hard. 

“Not bad, kid,” she said. “Not bad.” 

Ford smiled. _Proud of him_ , she'd said. And he could see it in her eyes, now that he was looking for it. The warm fizzy feeling was still in his chest. 

“ _I'm_ just glad Bud didn't get into the safe,” Stan said. “I mean, the Shack's not bad, if you like really old buildings that smell like feet.” 

“Gee, thanks,” Mabel said drily. 

“Group hug!” Ria announced, holding up her arms. 

They looked at her. 

“No? Maybe later? ...We'll put a pin in that.”

Suddenly Ford felt a weird vibration in his feet, and crumbly bits of insulation fell from the rafters. He frowned. 

“Hey, d'you guys feel –”

_BLAM!_

Something exploded behind them, throwing them across the carpet. Ford smacked his head so hard against the wood floor so hard he saw little dancing triangles behind his eyes. He sat up slowly, groaning. 

The living room wall had been blown to bits. A painfully bright light shown through the hole, and the silhouette of a short figure with enormous hair was walking towards them. 

“Oh Ah'm sorry, Pines family, did Ah wake you?” Bud cooed. 

He was holding the deed to the Shack in his hands. 

Ford stared, his body going numb. “But...but we defeated Bill!” 

“Bill? Who're – what're you talking about?” Mabel asked. 

“Bill failed me,” Bud snapped. “So Ah switched to Plan B: Dynamite. Spoiler alert, Mabel Pines –” He waved the deed in the air. “Ah got the deed! The Mystery Shack belongs to me! So _get off mah property!_ ” He turned away and pulled a walkie talkie from his jacket. “Father? Bring it around the front.” 

Ford smiled shakily. “Don't worry guys, it's just part of the dream! We're gonna wake up any second now!” 

“Guys!” Stan said, looking out the window. “Guys, move, move, move!” 

He hustled them out to the front lawn, stumbling a little from all their bumps and bruises. They barely made it out before a huge yellow crane drove up to the Shack, swinging a wrecking ball the size of a car, with Gideon in the driver's seat. 

Ford started to run forward. “Wait! Wait, _wait_ –”

Stanley grabbed him by the jacket and pulled him back as the wrecking ball swung through the air. It crunched straight through the Shack's roof like tissue paper, smashing the Mystery Shack sign in half. They shouted with alarm. 

“Someone pinch me,” Ria whispered. 

A piece of the broken sign crashed on the lawn in front of them.


	19. Dreamscapers Short

“Ow!” 

Stanley got up from the floor, rubbing his chin with his free hand. The box he'd been carrying had spilled all over the rug in Soos' living room. 

“What the _heck_ , Ford? What're you doing on the floor?” 

“I was _trying_ to concentrate.” 

“On what, dust bunnies?” Stan started throwing stuff randomly back into the box. Stan and Mabel had managed to get back into the Shack long enough to grab the essentials – clothes, slingshot, grappling hook, that horned helmet Stan had got, Soos' house key, all the stuff he'd hidden under his mattress. (Mabel had grabbed a bunch of files or whatever from her office, but that wasn't nearly as interesting.) When Bud caught them, Stan and Mabel had intentionally kept him distracted so Ria and Ford could merchandise from the Gift Shop. Soos was helping Ria and mabel unload it from Ria's truck right now. He'd offered to let them sleep in the living room until they'd figured out what to do about the Shack. 

But it was the middle of the day. Stan hadn't expected Ford to take that invitation so fast. 

Ford sat up against the couch and rubbed his side where Stan had kicked him. “Would you watch where you're going,” he said irritably. But it sounded like he didn't even mean it. 

Stan dropped the box and crouched next to him. Ford looked paler than usual. “Hey, Sixer –” 

“Get _off_ , Stanley.” Ford smacked his hand away. 

“Hey! What was that for?” 

“Uh, you woke me up with a kick in my guts?!” 

“Well 'scuse _me_ ,” Stan snapped, and moved to get the box. But he tripped over Ford's arm and went sprawling – _again._

“You did that on purpose!” 

“Did not!” 

“Did too!” 

“Get _off me!_ ” 

By the time Soos and Mabel walked in, the two of them were rolling on the floor, growling and trying to punch each other's lights out. 

“Whoa!” Mabel leaped forward and pulled them apart. “Dang it – quit – _agh!_ – fighting!” 

Finally she managed to pry them apart. They stood glaring at each other, bruises forming on their arms and faces. Stan's side hurt. Since when had Ford learned to throw a punch like that? He'd almost be proud if he wasn't so mad!

“What is the _matter_ with you two?!” Mabel demanded. 

“He started it!” Stan shouted. 

“I was holding perfectly still!” 

“Yeah, in the middle of the floor!” 

“THAT'S IT!” Mabel roared. She marched them straight out the back door and into the yard. Night was falling and the stupid rubber ducks were starting to glow in the dark. She kicked the lever on Soos' giant fort and the draw bridge dropped with a bang. 

“You two are stayin' out here until you decide you can come in without wrecking the place. That's _my_ job! If you're still not in by dinner time I'll bring it out to you. You can't get along, you sleep in separate corners. The Ramirezes are being nice enough to let us stay here, so _you're_ going to be _nice_ while we stay here or _SO. HELP. YOU!_ ” She dropped them on the bridge, shoved them towards the castle, and stomped back into the house, slamming the door behind her. 

Stanley glared at Ford. He was just starting to notice how much his face hurt. He shoved Ford and ran into the castle, hoping to get there fast enough to pull the drawbridge up after him. 

But Ford was right behind him, pushing Stan's back so he hit the ground for the third time in five minutes. 

“Why couldn't you just leave me alone!?” Ford shouted. “I was just trying to go to sleep!” 

“What is your _problem?!_ ” Stanley demanded. “You're the one who stays up all night with his summer reading, remember? How was I supposed to know you were gonna get all paranoid about your beauty rest!” 

“It's not beauty rest! I was trying to –” He broke off, hesitating. 

Stan scowled darkly. “Fine! FINE! See if I care! You go do your stupid little secret nerd thing on _that_ side and stay as far away from the _cool_ side as possible!” 

“I will!” 

“Fine!” 

“You said that already!” 

“FINE FINE FINE!” Stanley screamed. He turned and ran straight up the farthest stair case and up to the turret, going so fast he nearly went right over the wall. He caught himself just in time, looking down. 

Bad idea. 

He shoved himself back and sat down, hugging his knees to his chest, staring stubbornly out at the roofs of the other houses, the tops of the trees. He wouldn't give Ford the satisfaction of seeing him go back downstairs. 

His body still hurt, but he'd dealt with that before. He set his jaw and glared at the horizon, staring at the place where the night was slowly staining the sky, like a big spreading bruise. 

 

_This isn't working!_

Ford lay on his back, staring up at the gathering stars. He was lying on the ground and his back hurt and his head hurt and everything hurt and even when he fell asleep the hurt followed him and he dreamed he was back home. 

_Where is Bill? I thought he said something about not having a choice showing up in my dreams since I said the incantation! Did I get that wrong? Or was he lying?_

_Did he lie about...everything?_

He couldn't think. Couldn't reason it out. Too much had happened too fast. They'd had to steal stuff that already belonged to them, and the police wouldn't listen, and Stan had beaten him up – everything was just _wrong_. And Bill... Ford didn't know what to think, and Bill wasn't showing up in Ford's dreams so he could ask him. Did Bud somehow _force_ Bill to help him with some kind of demon magic? Or was the journal right about Bill all along? 

He turned his head. He'd laid down in a corner on the ground, diagonal from Stanley. Stan was sitting up on the ledge that ran the perimeter of the castle, all hunched up, facing away. Even in the dark Ford could see little marks he'd left on Stan's arms. Ford sat up. He felt like his guts had been squished like a bug's and his chest felt tight like he was going to cry. Never mind that Stan had left a few bruises of his own. Ford had done the same thing right back. 

He got up and went around the table in the middle of the castle and up the stairs. He could tell Stan was awake because of the way his shoulders twitched when he got close. 

“Um,” Ford said. He cleared his throat. 

“Go away, Ford.” Stan's voice was flat but quiet, without any heat to it. 

Ford jammed his hands in his pockets and stood there awkwardly. He wasn't sure what to do. He wanted Stan to turn around and talk to him like the fight had never happened. No, actually, what he _really_ wanted to do was make a Fort Stan and do shadow puppets and eat candy until they felt sick. Like, the _normal_ kind of sick that you could joke and laugh about. That always made them both feel better.

“Hey,” he said suddenly. “Didn't you stuff your toffee peanuts in the Stan O' War? Betcha Bud would never think to look there! They're probably still safe as long as, you know, it didn't get infested by ghost porcupines again.” 

Stanley whipped around. “'Again'?! What do you mean, 'again'?!” 

And then Stan caught the grin spreading across Ford's face. 

“Oh my god you _dork_ ,” Stan said, and he lightly smacked Ford's leg. 

Ford took this as a good sign. He sat down on the wooden ledge next to Stan, facing in instead of out, so his legs dangled over the grass. “Kinda surprised you even ran up here. Didn't you have a height thing?” 

“Look, Ford, I know I'm taller but you're gonna have to get over that eventually.” 

“Har, har,” Ford said dryly, and Stanley laughed. Then he spun himself on his butt and let his legs dangle next to Ford's. He lay down so his head was propped against the wall and he was looking at the sky. 

“Hey...I'm sorry I hit you,” Stan said. 

“Me too.” 

“I think I just kinda lost it for a second. I can't even remember what we were fighting about.” 

“You kicked me in the side. Because I was lying on the floor and you didn't see me with the box in your hands.” 

“Right. You got a coupla good punches in, though.” 

“Yeah right.” 

“No, seriously. You practice punching when I'm not looking or something?” 

“Not really. Just lifting stacks of books and tech equipment with Fiddleford. Plus, you know, 'Mabel' chores.” 

Stan groaned. “She ask you to clean out the trash cans yet?” 

“Clean out the _trash cans?_ ” 

“Made me do it after I accidentally-on-purpose threw her stuffed animal nightmare into the black hole.” 

“You did it for a good cause,” Ford said gravely. 

“Yeah – our sanity.”

They laughed a little and then just lay there for a minute. Ford was doing this thing where he knew things but he put them where he didn't have to think about them in his mind. He was mostly not-thinking about Bill and if he'd lied and whether Bud could get into his and Fiddleford's lab. Stan's car was still inside. Chances were Bud wouldn't be able to crack the eight-digit code, but he didn't know how well Fiddleford constructed the lab, or whether it could stand up to a wrecking ball. 

He was also not-thinking about the Shack and where they'd stay for the rest of the summer. If Mabel could even find a place. And he was not-thinking about how Mabel made a big deal over pinching pennies and probably wouldn't be able to afford a place for them to stay. He was _especially_ not thinking about what would happen when she realized that. 

The thoughts kept coming back to him, worming their way through his brain. 

“We were going to go back anyway at the end of the summer,” he said finally. “I mean...if we _do_ go back now, it's just a month earlier. No big deal.” 

“We're not going back,” Stanley said, staring at the sky. 

Ford sighed. “Stanley...” 

“We're not going back,” Stan repeated, a little louder. “Mabel's gonna fix everything, and if she doesn't, we will. We got your brains and my punching and it's our summer and we're _not going back._ ” 

“Okay, okay, I heard you the first times” 

Stan sat up too fast and nearly fell over the edge. “I'm sicka this toy house. Let's go inside and get actual sofabeds with actual french fry grease stains on the cushions!” 

Stan grabbed Ford, yanked him to his feet and they ran down the stairs, Stanley holding all the time to the edge of Ford's jacket. When they got to the floor Ford grabbed Stan's hand, and together they ran out of the fort and into the house.


	20. Chapter 20

The air was soft and hot, with that bite to it that promised to make the early afternoon a scorcher. The heat steamed the sweet piney sent from the trees around the Mystery Shack. The squirrels were busy collecting nuts while it was still cool enough to avoid spontaneous combustion. 

Suddenly a shadow slid over the town. It slipped through the houses, through the alleys, through the cracks in the windows. It covered the Mystery Shack. A huge pressure bore down on the Shack and a huge black ball of death swung right through the roof – 

“AAAAAAH!” 

Ford sat upright, breathing hard as though he'd just run a mile. He was hot and sweaty all over. The room was dark and it smelled funny, but maybe that was just because Ford wasn't thinking straight yet. 

Stanley rolled over next to him. There was something weird about that, too. “What the heck, Ford? What's wrong?” 

“Sorry, I just – I had this crazy dream that Bud stole the Shack and kicked us out, and...and we all had to move in with Soos...” 

Soos' face loomed out of the darkness. “That was no dream, dude.” 

“AAAAAAH!” 

Mabel clicked on the light. They were all in the Ramirez's living room, with Mabel sprawled on the couch, Ford and Stan in sleeping bags in front of the television, and Soos sitting in his favorite recliner. 

“Ford, would you quit it already?” Mabel asked, wincing. “You're gonna break my hearing aid.” 

“Uh, sorry...” 

“Dooood, I found a cheeto in here!” Stanley held up a green cheeto he'd pulled from the couch cushions. “Who wants to bet ten bucks I'll eat it?” 

Ford cracked a grin. “You'll eat it with or without the bet.” 

“If you do, no snickerdoodles for you.” Ria came in from the kitchen with a platter of fresh-baked cookies. “Is the news on? I want to find out what's happening with the Shack.” 

“Oh, sure, sweetheart.” Soos picked up the remote and changed the channel from _Tiger Fist_ to the local news station. He cranked the volume. 

Alexander Anchor stood in front of the Shack, looking nearly as snooty as Preston Northwest. “In a move that has all of Gravity Falls buzzing, child psychic Bud Gleeful has taken surprise ownership of the Mystery Shack....” 

The TV screen flicked to a file photo of Bud, showing him grinning at the camera and surrounded by a litter of happy puppies. 

“...previously belonging to town shyster Mabel Pines.” 

The screen changed to a picture of Mabel in a bright pink ballgown on some kind of stage, surrounded by flames and exploding tech equipment. 

Mabel gasped. “My screenplay! I _knew_ I'd get on TV eventually!” 

The picture went back to showing Anker standing with Bud in front of the Shack. The building now had a chainlink fence around it with a huge picture of Bud's face plastered over the front door. Anker wore a matching Bud pin on the collar of his jacket. 

Anker angled the microphone at Bud. “Now that you have the Shack, what exactly are you planning to do with it?” 

Bud practically blushed with excitement. “Ah have a big announcement to make today! And Ah'd like to cordially invite all the good people of Gravity Falls to join me. Free admission to everyone who wears their Bud Gleeful pins!” He held up a pin just like the one Anker was wearing. “ _Wink!_ It's mah face!” 

Ford's stomach twisted. “I can't believe Bud beat us. Normally I'm able to save the day...this is all my fault.” 

Stan stood up. “Don't worry, Sixer. Looks like Stanley's gonna be the hero of the family now! I'll defeat Bud with my – _grappling hook!_ ” He whipped it out of nowhere and brandished it, grinning. 

Ford rolled his eyes. “Stanley, no offense, but that grappling hook has literally never helped us once.” 

“Oh yeah?! _Pizza grab!_ ” He shot it at a box of half-eaten pizza sitting next to Soos. It cut right through the open cardboard lid and the hooks embedded themselves in the paint. Bits of wall rained down. 

Soos grabbed a slice. “Sweet! Insulation for a topping! Now the pizza will stay warm even in my stomach!” 

Ria sighed at her abuelito, then turned to the twins. “So you lost the Shack. Look on the bright side! Now you get to leave her with us! FYI, the ducks outside glow in the dark, so don't be alarmed if you see their eyes following you. Also we think there's something living in the crawlspace, so don't be alarmed if you hear strange noises or, you know, coarse rugged hair brush against your cheek at night.” 

They shuddered. 

Stanley sat his jaw. “We gotta get the Shack back.” 

 

Trumpets blared and pipe organ music played over the crowd. The Shack was packed, for once, but for all the wrong reasons. There was a “Mystery Shack Grand Closing” banner hung up inside the chainlink fence, and the porch in front of the gift shop was festooned with baby-blue ribbons. They'd even repainted the podium with the Tent of Telepathy sign. A huge picture of Bud's gleeful face was fastened in front of the Gift Shop door. As Ford watched, Bud himself jumped straight through the canvas, a glittery pink cape around his glittery pink shoulders. 

“Hello Gravity Falls!” he shouted, throwing handfuls of even more glitter in the air. His father did a little tune on the pipe organ and Bud danced to it. The crowd went nuts. 

“Bud is the psychic-est!” Valerie said. “He guessed the secret ingredient to my anti-alien-possession wheatgrass!” 

“Somehow he knew about my horrifying secret birthmark!” Toby Determine chimed in. 

“I love that child psychic _SO MUCH!_ ” Manly Dan shouted, and he and his uncles grabbed each other in a group hug that would've suffocated an ordinary man. 

Ford, Stan, Mabel, and Ria stood at the back of the crowd, dressed in black trench coats with matching bowler hats. Stanley wore sunglasses and chewed a piece of straw, which Ford wished he had thought of because it looked seriously cool. Mabel had gotten a little carried away and worn a fake mustache, which they could not talk her out of.

She stroked her mustache excitedly. “How do I look? Do I look inconspicuous? Tell me I look like an evil mastermind!” 

“You look good, Ms. Pines,” Ria said. She'd gone for a fake beard, which she had taped to her cheeks with _Tiger Fist_ bandaids. 

“ _Ladies and gentlemen!_ ” Bud sang from the podium. Ford snapped to attention. Bud's father was wheeling out something on a cart, covered up with a tarp. Bud gestured to it dramatically. “Today Ah am delighted to announce our plans for the former Mystery Shack! Ah give you... _Bud World!_ ” He ripped off the tarp. 

It was a small scale model of an amusement park. The Shack's roofs had been replaced with tin, and there was a Tent of Telepathy star instead of the sign. Worst of all were the rides – a huge pendulum, a roller coaster, a Merry-Go-Round... And there were not one, but _two_ huge statues of Bud Gleeful, one replacing the totem pole, and an even bigger one with a massive rotating head next to the Shack, holding a sign that read ' _Bud World._ '” 

“ _What?!_ ” Mabel shrieked. 

Stan shuddered. “The horror.” 

Bud held up a slightly melted popsicle of his own face, with those weird blue-candy eyes that bulged and bled blue tears. “We are gonna turn this dirty ol' Shack into three square miles of Bud-tertainment! And introducin' our new mascot...” He stepped away from the model and gestured grandly to his father, who was holding yet another weird shape under a tarp. At Bud's signal, his father grinned and whipped off the cover. 

“ _Li'l Bud Jr.!_ ” 

It was Gompers, stuffed into the worst pink tuxedo Ford had ever seen. The goat bleated hollowly and tried to eat Mr. Gleeful's pompadour. 

“Gompers!” Stanley shouted. “YOU MONSTER!” 

“Alright, that's it!” Mabel ripped off her disguise and they rushed forward, pushing and shoving their way through the crowd. Ford, Stan, and Mabel climbed up the porch. Stan kicked a cardboard cut-out of Bud to the ground and Ford stood next to the podium. 

Mabel grabbed the mike. “Listen up people! Bud Gleeful's a fraud! This kid broke in and stole my property!”

“Arrest him officers!” Stan shouted. 

“Yeah!” 

Sheriff Velasquez and Deputy Johnson stepped up, both licking Bud-sicles. Ford groaned inwardly. This was not encouraging. 

Bud _tsk_ 'd as he walked up to Mabel. “Such accusations!” he said, putting his pudgy little hand on his chest. “Ms. Pines, as Ah recall, you gave the property to me! Look! Here's the deed right here.” He took it out of his jacket and waved it for the crowd to see. 

Velasquez sucked the last of the ice cream from his popsicle stick. “Well that's all the proof I need.” 

“Saaaame,” Johnson said. “Hey, what'd you get on your popsicle?” 

Velasquez looked down and read the little printed message. “'A psychic a day keeps the doctor away!'” 

“I got the same one!” 

“Haha! Hey, since they're dyed red they look like lightsabers!” They started fake-fighting with them, making Star Wars zooming noises. 

“Guys, seriously!” Ford shouted, but Bud snapped his fingers. Two seriously ripped body guards started towards him. 

Ford jumped back and tried to run, but they grabbed him around the arms. Actually, just one of them grabbed him. In one hand. (Come on, he wasn't _that_ wimpy anymore!) The guard reached out with his free hand, grabbing Stanley and squishing them together so hard they couldn't move. The other guard grabbed Mabel and yanked her away.

“Hey! Watch the merchandise!” 

“Mah thoughts exactly,” Bud said, climbing back up to the mike. He smacked a Bud pin on Mabel's jacket. “Now get off mah property, old woman!” 

“I'll show _you_ who's the old –” Suddenly her hearing aid squealed so loudly Ford could hear it two feet away. “Aagh! Ow, my hearing aid! Ow!” 

“Thanks for visitin' Bud World!” Bud called, waving. “And don't come back, Ah don't care for y'all.” 

The guards carried them away and shoved them off the property, slamming the chainlink fence behind him. They'd grabbed Ria along the way. The four of them stood with their faces pressed against the metal, watching as Bud hyped his own amusement park. 

“Dang, I wish I'd thought to do that when I was boss,” Stan grumbled. 

Mabel turned around and slumped against the fence. Ford had never seen her look so miserable. His throat tightened with anger. Mabel hadn't even done anything illegal this time! Bud was the actual thief and everyone was just going along with it! 

“Don't worry guys,” he said forcefully. “We'll get the Shack back _some_ how.” 

“We'd better,” Seandra said, walking up to them. 

“Seandra!” Ford smiled at her. Suddenly the sunshine was a whole lot brighter. “You didn't go to Bud's thing?” 

“ _Heck_ no. But if we don't get the Shack back, my mom's gonna send me to my aunt's summer boarding school in Connecticut.” 

The day got dark. “ _What?!_ ” Ford sputtered. “You're leaving town?! But we need you here!” 

“Yeah!” Stan added. “Especially Ford, because of his big crush on...you...” 

Ford was glaring daggers at him. 

“Uh...calptus trees! 'Cuz Ford _loves_ eucalyptus trees! Totally!” Stanley laughed loudly. 

Stanley gave him a Look: _See? Helping!_

Ford gave him a Look back: _NOT! HELPING!_

An engine revved nearby and Seandra winced. “Oh man,” she muttered, holding up a hand to hide her face. “Don't look now...” 

Aaron Anker rode up on his moped, holding up an iphone with one hand, its tiny speakers blasting a hard-rock love song. 

“Take me back, Seandra!” he begged. “I can't maintain my self-image of masculine glory if you reject me!” 

“I was never here,” Seandra told them, grabbing her bike and riding off. Aaron followed her, still begging and whining. 

Ford stared after them, for once feeling perfect empathy with Aaron. 

 

Stanley sat in Ramirez's living room on the couch, sandwiched between his brother and Ria. Soos sat in the armchair, which was covered in doilies. (Soos himself was also covered in doilies. Stan hadn't realized how much Ria could knit when she was nervous. She was almost as bad as Mabel.) 

“I dunno, dudes,” Soos said, looking worried. “I mean, I make some pretty pennies commissioning fanfics online, but...they're just pennies! How're we supposed to feed five people on pennies?!” 

Stan felt weird – his face was hot and his stomach was cold. It always seemed to come down to money. He'd thought of Soos' house like a safety net. Like, if anything ever _did_ happen, they could stay here. But Soos looked genuinely worried, and the guy couldn't bluff his way past a ball of lint. If _he_ said they couldn't stay...

“Where're we gonna live, Sixer?” Stan asked. His hands felt clammy as he gripped the couch cushions. “Where will we put all the stuff I won from poker?!” 

Then Ford gave voice to that stupid thought at the back of Stan's brain. 

“What's Mabel gonna tell Mom and Dad?” 

Stanley felt like throwing up. 

Ria's knitting needles paused mid-stitch. “Do not worry, chiquitos. Ms. Pines will figure something out. She always does!” 

“Yeah,” Stanley said shakily. He cleared his throat. “I mean, _yeah!_ She got me my first-ever girlfriend with the Power of Mabel, and everyone knows every girl was intimidated by my awesomeness before that!” 

“Right, that's what happened,” Ford said drily. 

“Exactly! You guys wait and see. We're not done in Gravity Falls by a long shot. Mabel's gonna figure out the perfect plan to shove that Bud Gleeful's glitter right down his pudgy throat! _HEY!_ ” He grabbed Ria's arm. “You still got that flashlight?! We could totally sick it on 'im!” 

“I, uh, I sort of lent it to Manly Dan,” she said apologetically. “He wanted to make a miniature log cabin and then 'embiggen' it to impress his uncles.” 

“Well we can just get it back from him!” 

“He accidentally stepped on it.” 

“Oh.” 

“Besides, a magic flashlight isn't going to change the fact that Bud has the deed,” Soos put in. “From what you told me, everyone thinks Mabel gave it to Bud fair and square, even the police.” 

Ford nodded. “What we need is a foolproof way to get Bud to give us back the deed to the Shack. Whoever's got that deed, has the Shack.” 

“Yeah!” Stanley pumped his fists. “We're gonna make a plan, we're gonna get that Shack back, and we're gonna stay here for the rest of the summer!” 

They cheered. 

“This calls for brain food! HEY GRAUNTIE MABEL!” Stanley shouted. “CAN WE ORDER PIZZA?! WE NEED BRAIN FOOD!” 

 

The construction workers shoveled, drilled, and carried lumber and other building materials in and out of the Bud World perimeters. A small group of them had been hired specifically to work for Crazy Chu, who, for all her incessant and disturbing blather, had proved surprisingly brilliant at constructing giant robots in the past. Bud had read an old newspaper report of a pterodactyl-tron. He thought it might be useful to have that kind of power in his back pocket to save for a rainy day. 

Bud had finished dumping everything from Mabel's office into the oversized dumpster out front. All but one thing: a photograph of Mabel, Stanley, and Stanley's evil twin. He carried it to the living room and threw it into the fire so hard the glass cracked. There was a delicious satisfaction in watching the red flames slowly turn their smiling faces to black dust. 

“Baa-aa-aa,” Gompers bleated, mournfully head-butting the wall below the window. 

Bud turned with a snarl. “Hey! Back to your corner!” He whipped out a dog whistle he'd found in Ria's break room and blew. The goat squealed and scrambled to the farthest corner of the living room, shivering. 

His father strode into the room, grinning crazily and gesturing as he talked. “– will make a _fortune!_ This is my best idea yet, the thing practically sells itself! Ah don't care where that wily Mabel thinks she hid those tapes – the Shack is ours and she'll never get her hands on them again! Now, _me,_ on the other hand, Ah've got tons of...hey, boy, why ain't you celebratin'?” 

Bud refrained from showing any outward sign of it, but the corners of the journal dug into his chest. He'd hidden it in his jacket, since he didn't want to risk his father finding it. His father would take it and use it merely for financial gain, lording it over the idiots of Gravity Falls as if that were the only use for it. But Bud had other plans in mind...

He turned, tears glistening in his eyes. Crying on command was something he'd mastered years ago. “Ah just...can't believe we did it,” Bud said truthfully. “Ah wasn't sure Ah could pull it off, but everything you said to do worked like a charm on a snake. Oh, Daddy, we're gonna be filthy stinkin' rich!” 

Gideon laughed and bent down to pat Bud's shoulder. He was grinning fiercely, the two of them both flush with victory. “Ah tol' you, Ah _tol'_ you ya got the spark, boy!” Gideon gave Bud's shoulder a gentle shake. “We've done away with the only threat to our power in the whole valley. Now there's nothin' stoppin' us from startin' a whole chain of Bud Worlds! You wait and see, son – this time next year, you'll walk on carpets made of woven silk and wear diamond-studded tuxedos!” He started for the door, then noticed Gompers. “Boo!” The goat bleated and backed up into the wall. Still laughing, he headed out of the building to check on the construction. 

Once he was sure his father was gone, Bud stepped quietly over the boxes of “Child Psychic” merchandise and stood behind a tall stack of lamb shears. If his father suddenly came back, Bud could pretend to be unpacking. 

He took out the journal. The moonlight from the window made the gold leaf shimmer as he opened it. 

He turned to a page that showed an illustration of the Mystery Shack, minus a few of its more eccentric tourist gimmicks. There were targets drawn all around the property of the Mystery Shack labeled “Possible Hiding Places”. The opposite page held a picture of a control box to be placed in a hollowed-out tree. 

Bud had never been able to search the forest properly because his father was watching his every move, training him to be the perfect showman. The amusement park had been a brilliant stroke of genius on Bud's part. He'd even made his father think it was his own idea. The park would keep his father occupied long enough for him to sneak away and start the search. He would begin with digging up the surrounding land tomorrow. With all the construction, a few more holes would go unnoticed. Once he found the other journal, he'd know all the secrets to unleashing a mysterious and unimaginable power, greater than anything anyone in this hick town could ever think up. He wondered why the author of the journal would choose to give it up in the first place. 

“Whoever you are, author, you were as weak as my father,” Bud whispered, disgusted. “Using power for money, or not using it at all...neither one of you know what to do with it. But _I_ do. And very, very soon, I will make sure everyone else does, too.” 

 

Without “Pizza Brain Food”, Stan's so-called Think Tank had degenerated into digging in random closets for weapons until they found a bunch of Ria's old board games. Ford had never even heard of them – Handy Land, Monochrome Monopoly, and Chutes and Stairs, where the goal was to get to the bank while avoiding the IRS. (“With All the Excitement of Actual Tax Evasion!”) 

Stan had gotten thoroughly engrossed in it, but Ford couldn't quite make himself join in. He felt like his brain was melting from thinking so hard. 

They could get a lawyer – but lawyers cost money. They could sell Stan's coin and his car – but he'd looked up what lawyers cost, no way they could afford a lawyer for as long as it would take to get the Shack back. They could try to tunnel under the fence and steal it back, but all of Stan's digging stuff was in the lab. 

_Argh!_ Stan, Stan, Stan! Why didn't Ford have anything of his own to offer?! At this rate he was going to have to go back home and leave the lab, Fiddleford, Mabel, and even Bill behind! What good was having a brain if he didn't know what to do in a situation like this? What was he supposed to do, “math” Bud into giving up the Shack?! That would only work if he could shoot beams of actual math out of his hands – like that could ever happen!

Mabel walked into the room. Ford leaped to his feet. 

“Mabel! _Please_ tell me you know a way to...” He trailed off. The look on her face was one of abject misery. 

She cleared her throat. “Kids, we gotta talk.” 

Stan turned to listen. 

“Look, I've been thinkin' and...I can't take care of you anymore. I-I don't have a house, or a job...” She looked away. “The plan is...you're goin' home. The bus leaves tomorrow, here are your tickets.” She pulled them out of her jacket. 

Ford stared at them. It felt like she was handing them a prison sentence. 

“You – you can't just give up,” Stan said. His voice sounded far away. 

“Stan's right!” Ria said. She stood up and squeezed Stan and Ford together. “I mean, _look_ at these faces!” She whispered something in Spanish and Stan pulled the most perfect puppy dog face Ford had ever seen. 

But Mabel looked them right in the eyes and didn't even blink. “Look, I lost, okay?” she said roughly. “The best thing for you is to be with your parents. I'm sorry. Bud won.” She turned and set the tickets on the table by the couch. “Summer's over.” 

Ford watched her leave. He saw Ria run after her, shouting something. There was so much he wasn't thinking about that he wasn't thinking anything at all. 

Stan's voice cut through his mental fog. “Alright, that's ENOUGH!” he shouted. He grabbed Ford's arm. “If Mabel won't get our home back, then we'll have to do it ourselves! Right?” 

“Uh – right,” Ford said, blinking. Then he nodded and set his jaw. “ _Right._ Bud might have the upper hand, but we have one thing he doesn't...” 

“A grappling hook!” Stan shouted, just as Ford said “The journal”. 

Ford raised an eyebrow. 

Stanley grinned, twirled the grappling hook around one finger, and blew on the metal spikes. “Trust me, Sixer, this thing's gonna save the day. Now let's go get our home back!” 

 

The chainlink fence around the Shack was now topped with barbed wire, and the two security guards paced back and forth in front of the gate. 

Stanley stuck his head out of the bushes. “Wait a minute, isn't one of them the Skull guy?! _Betrayer!_ ” 

“Stanley!” Ford hissed, yanking him back. They'd waited for almost an hour until the construction guys had left. If they were gonna do this, they needed to do it with as few people around as possible. That way they could get to Bud without getting caught. 

He sat back on the ground. Stanley sat down next to him, tapping his grappling hook impatiently against his leg. “Alright. The bus to take us out of Gravity Falls comes at sundown. If we're gonna stay in town, we need to make it past those guards, make it through the fence, and get Bud to hand over that deed.” 

“Leave it to Stanley! WHATCHA!” He shot the grappling hook. It ricocheted off the nearest tree and clipped Ford in the head. 

“ _Agh!_ NOW will you admit that the grappling hook is useless?!” 

“Nope! Never!” 

Ford growled, rubbing his head. Then he took out his journal and got serious. “Okay, what can we use to defeat Bud...” He came across the page with the Gremloblin. He actually knew where to find that one – assuming it still lived in the same den – but after what had happened last time, that might just make things worse. He flipped to the next page. “Let's see...barf fairy?” 

“YEAH!” 

“Nope.” Next page. “Butternut squash with a human face and emotions?” 

“YEAH!” 

“Nope.” Next page. 

Stanley stopped him. “Whoa, what's _this?_ ” 

It was the page with all the geometric shapes on it, with strange symbols and notes written into the design. There were weird ridges and grooves in the surface of the page, ridges Ford couldn't see that didn't match the inky lines. Ford held it closer. “I've stared at this page for hours. It seems like a blueprint to build some kind of strange, futuristic super weapon!” 

“Soooo, can you build it?” 

“Not between now and sunset.” 

“Then forget it. To defeat those guards, we'd need some kind of army.” 

“An army...” Ford repeated, thinking hard. “Wait a minute, that's it! Stanley – the _gnomes!_ ” 

Stan tugged at his shirt collar. “Uh...” 

 

They'd only been walking in the woods for about ten minutes, but it felt like forever. Stan really wished he'd had time to get his car out of the lab. Then again, with Bud owning the property, he probably would've...repossessed it, or something. 

“I think this is their hiding spot,” Ford said, as they entered a part of the forest that was exactly identical to every other place. They pushed through some bushes.

“I wonder what gnomes do when they're alone in the forest,” Stanley said. Then the bushes parted and Stan _really_ wished he hadn't asked. 

Jeff the Creep-O Gnome was sitting in an old porcelain bathtub, which was filled to the brim with scurrying squirrels. He'd grabbed one and was scrubbing his armpit with its tail. 

“Yat-dat-dee, yat-dat-dat-doo,” Jeff sang. Then he spotted them. “Uh – this is normal! This is normal for gnomes! Scrub, scrub!” 

They stared. 

Jeff stood up and Stan nearly gagged. It was hard to tell with all the squirrels, but he was pretty sure Jeff wasn't wearing pants. 

“Well, well, well, look who came crawlin' back!” Jeff said. He turned to the squirrel. “Take five, Chris. The rest of you keep doin' whatcher doin'.” He sat down and leaned back like he was in a fancy jacuzzi instead of a tub of traumatized rodents. “So! Changed your mind about workin' for me, didja, Stanley?” 

“Ew! Hardly!” He glanced at Ford, but the dude was staring at Jeff with a fixed expression of disgust. “We, uh, we need your help. And seriously, ew!” 

“ _You_ need _our_ help? After you ditched us, pun intended?! No dice!” 

“What if we were able to get you a new worker? One almost as good as me!” He nudged Ford. 

“Right, right! Uh – his hair is so shiny, it literally glows in the dark. No miner's gear required!” 

“That _would_ reduce servant maintenance fees,” Jeff said slowly. “Alright, you got a deal! Hey, Shmebulock! Go spread the word!” 

The gnarled old gnome jumped out from behind a tree. “SHMEBULOCK!” 

Jeff raised an eyebrow. “Is Shmebulock all you can say?” 

The gnome sighed like he'd heard that question a hundred times before. “Shmebulock,” he said miserably. 

“Whatever. It's a deal,” Jeff said, standing up and extending his hands. They shook on it. 

 

Mabel dragged herself to Greasy's Diner. What she really wanted to do was drag herself to the cemetery and pick out a nice empty hole and lay down in it, but there were actual buzzards there. (The cemetery bordered Mayor Beffufflefumpter's house, and those guys were always hanging out and waiting for him to die.) Mabel wasn't quite that depressed, but she felt almost that bad. She couldn't see any way out of this mess. The least she could do was give the Ramirezes some space, since she'd be mooching off their generosity for the foreseeable future. 

She sat on a barstool and stared dismally at the Greasy Diner stains on the counter. Not two weeks ago she'd helped Stanley get his first girlfriend at this very location. Now he'd lost her and he was about to lose his summer with his grauntie, too. What was she supposed to do, let him stay and feed off garbage? As it was, she couldn't even keep Waddles – she'd had to send him to the Sprotts farm until she was back on her feet. The guilt crushed her. 

She closed her eyes. “Waiter, give me the strongest, most expired apple cider you got.” 

“Coming right up, Ms. Pines.” 

Mabel's eyes flew open. Ria rubbing a glass with a cleaning cloth on the other side of the counter. 

“ _Ria?_ What're you doin' here?” 

She shrugged, setting down Mabel's order. “Since the Mystery Shack closed down, I've had to take on a few part-time jobs: grave-digger, bus driver, really awesome cook...uh, one moment...” Something in the kitchen had lit on fire and was filling the room with bright yellow flames. Ria grabbed the fire extinguisher, ran back and started spraying. 

Mabel sighed and pulled the expired juice closer. “You're a good woman, Ria, but it's not looking good. The whole town loves the Gleefuls and hates me. I didn't think Bud had it in 'im, but he's acting just as bad as his old man. If only there was some way to show them how evil they really are...” 

Ria came up and wrapped a panda-like arm around Mabel's shoulders. “Don't worry, Ms. Pines. I'm here for you.” 

“The entire lower half of your body is on fire. But don't leave yet, we're having a moment.” She leaned into Ria and hugged her as the smell of smoke filled the air. 

 

Ford and Stan waited until the guards went on their lunch break. Then they ran right up to the chainlink fence. Bud looked like he was doing extra construction work, digging holes in the lawn – in _their lawn_ – still wearing that gaudy pink suit. 

“HEY BUD!” Ford shouted. “Give us back the deed to the Mystery Shack – or else!” 

Bud looked over at them and laughed, resting his arm on the shovel. “Or else, what, you'll 'math' at me?” He snapped his fingers and his guards came out of nowhere, standing next to him like a couple of tall mountains. 

“Actually the math thing's not a bad idea,” Stan muttered. 

“Forget the math thing! NOW!” 

Suddenly the two guards stiffened and fell face-first, two pointy-hatted gnomes in their backs. Bud whipped around. More gnome archers sighted along their bows, using more gnomes as arrows. Dears, rabbits, and raccoons burst through the chainlink fence, their gnome riders urging them on. Bud shrieked and tried to run for it, but dozens of foot soldier gnomes poured in from all sides, wielding sticks and rocks. In only seconds they had Bud completely surrounded, held at hat-point with all gnome arrows trained right at his fluffy white hair. 

Ford and Stan marched up to Bud. 

“You're surrounded by an unstoppable gnome army,” Ford declared. “Now give us back our deed and get off our property!” 

“And don't forget to sign our contract making you are servant for all eternity!” Jeff added. 

Bud sighed. “Very well.” He reached into his jacket. “Ah suppose this deed belongs to – _FWEEEEET!_ ” 

The gnomes squealed and covered their ears, falling to the ground at the sound of the whistle. Even the gnomes on the roof fell off, groaning and rolling around in physical pain. 

Ford froze. _Uh-oh._

“Ha! What do ya know, works on gnomes, too!” Bud grinned and blew the whistle again, louder and longer. 

“Stop, stop!” Jeff cried. “We'll do anything, just stop! How can we serve you, new master? The largest gnome we've ever seen!” 

Bud glared at him. “Ah am _not_ a gnome.” 

“Really? But your hair's like, an upside-down beard, only bigger and more lustrous. Do you use full-body shampoo, or –”

“Don't touch the hair! _Subdue them!_ ” He pointed at Stan and Ford. 

Before they could move an inch, the gnomes swarmed them, clamping their fingers into their arms and legs. They shouted and tried to get loose, but it was like fighting those buff security guards. They even grabbed him by the hair. 

Bud chuckled. He swaggered up to them. “Ah have to admit, kids, Ah am impressed by your creativity.” 

Ford struggled harder. One of the gnomes jumped onto his elbow to hold him still, and the impact jarred the journal loose from inside his jacket. It fell to the ground, face-down. 

Ford gasped. “Oh, no!” He looked up, and just as he feared, Bud was staring at it with greed in his eyes. 

“Could that be...” He picked it up. “Ah can't believe it, the other journal!” He laughed, flipping through the pages. 

“Let go, give it back!” Ford shouted. He struggled harder, but the gnomes were just too strong. 

Bud was still laughing over his new prize. “It all makes sense! The one place Ah'd never think to look. _You_ had it the whole time! And to think Ah actually considered you a threat.” He tucked the journal under his arm and tweaked Ford's nose. “Every victory you had was because of your precious book.”

Ford jerked away. “Give it back, Bud, or I'll –”

“You'll what, boy? Huh? HUH?” Bud got right up in his face. 

“Back off!” Stan shouted, but Bud ignored him. 

“No muscles, no brains – face it! You're _nothin'_ without this.” Suddenly Bud became syrupy sweet. “Bye-bye forever, y'all,” he sang, and blew the whistle. 

The gnomes dragged them away. Stan was kicking and screaming, and Ford was trying to bite every part of the gnomes he could reach, but it was like trying to fight off rabid seagulls: ineffective, painful, and terrifying. The gnomes dragged them a quarter of a mile down the road before they finally let go. 

Ford hit the ground on his knees, breathing hard. His arms and legs hurt and he was sure he'd have bruises from how hard they'd been holding him. 

The second they let Stan go, he started kicking them, but they scampered out of his reach. 

“Cowards!” Stanley shouted. “You ran away because he _whistled_ at you?! YOU BLOODY COWARDS!” 

“Next time, do your own dirty work!” Jeff shouted. He pulled out his pants, called for his squirrel-sponges to jump inside, and then vanished into the trees. In seconds every gnome in sight had disappeared. 

Stan was breathing heavily and his face was all red. “Forget them. Just forget it! We'll get the Shack back _our_ way. We don't need their help – we don't need anyone's help! Right, Sixer?” 

Ford stared down at the dirt. His knees were all dirty and there was a tear in his jeans. He picked up a twig and started tracing lines in the dust.

“Sixer...?”

“That's it,” Ford said dully. “Guess the bus'll be here soon.” 

There was a second of silence. 

“Are. You. _Serious!?_ ” Stan demanded. “You can't just give up, you always have a plan!” 

“No, the _journal_ always has a plan!” Ford snapped. “Think about it, Stanley! Before we came here, did we ever have crazy adventures or discover new species or prove that nuclear fusion could be sustained for twenty minutes in a lab the size of a garden shed?! No! Bud was right! The only cool or courageous things I've ever done have been because of that journal! It doesn't matter how smart I am. Without that journal, I can't help you, or Mabel...or anyone.” 

Stanley slowly folded down to the ground. “There's gotta be _something_ we can do.” 

Ford looked up at his brother. “What _can_ we do?” 

They sat in silence in the dust. 

 

“Bus fifty-two, departing Gravity Falls. All aboard.” 

The doors hissed open. Stanley reached down and grabbed his suitcase. Ford grabbed his. They climbed the bus steps and headed to the back. They left their luggage in the aisle and sat facing backwards, staring out the window. Mabel was standing on the road behind them, along with Ria and Fiddleford. 

“Sorry kids,” Mabel said through the glass. “It's for the best.” 

The engine started. The bus began to move. Mabel turned away, but after a second she looked back over her shoulder. It was the saddest puppy dog face Stan had ever seen, because it was real. 

Stan sat down, facing forward and staring at his knees. They were scuffed and his legs were bruised all over from the gnomes. He pressed his thumb into a bruise to make it bigger. It was hard to feel it, no matter how hard he pressed. Right now he didn't seem to feel much of anything. 

He could've stayed in Soos' house. So what if Soos didn't feed them? He could've hid in the crawlspace and eaten possum casseroles or something. But he'd checked, and Ford wouldn't have fit up there with him. No way was he leaving Ford behind. At least, if they had to go back, they'd be going back together. 

He didn't want to go back at all. 

“I can't believe this is happening,” Ford said, staring out the window. The bus drove them slowly out of town. 

 

Bud couldn't stop giggling. He walked straight through the construction workers and into the Shack, slamming the door behind him. 

“Ah've got it, Ah've finally got it!” he whispered. 

He raced past the office where his father was doing income projections and ran for the living room. He laid out his own journal, the “2” gleaming darkly in the light of the setting sun. Still giggling, he placed the new journal next to it. 

“At last, Ah have journal number – _3?!_ ” He stared at the cover, but it wasn't a trick of the light. “There are _three of 'um?!_ But where's Journal Number 1?!” He was almost shouting. He pounded on the table. “No, no! I must have all of them for the power to be unlocked! But where can I...” He trailed off. His eyes narrowed. “ _Ford._ That six-fingered freak must know where it is. He gave me the third one and kept the first for himself! I can't let him leave Gravity Falls!” 

He grabbed the journals, stuffed them into his jacket, and rushed back outside. “YOU THERE!” he shouted up. “IS IT READY?” 

Crazy Chu stood back. She'd been soldering the last of the metal plates at the top of the giant Bud Bot. She flipped up her welder's visor and cackled. 

“Only one way to find out!” she called back. She went to the back of the giant head and pulled an enormous lever. 

Instantly bright yellow light flickered and zinged from the metal seams of the robot. The cheeks and eyes lit up. There was a _bang_ so deep and loud it made a shockwave that made the nearest pine trees shiver and quake. 

Bud smiled with satisfaction. He stepped onto a small platform protruding from the robot's right foot. His weight triggered a hidden mechanism and the platform lifted him up and back into the robot's leg. Bud rose through the robot's body, higher and higher. Finally he arrived in the robot's head, now clad in a motion-sensitive suit that controlled the robot's every move. 

Now _this_ was power, _this_ was control. From here he could see all pedestrian details of the lives of the puny townsfolk. He knew their every secret, their deepest desires, and he looked down on them literally and figuratively, untouchable and yet able to control everything around him. This robot was but the manifestation of Bud's true self – all-knowing, all-powerful. Not just an issue of physical, monetary, or emotional domination, but _all three_ , a being that exuded power over everyone and everything it saw. And clumsy as it was, once he had the other journal, he wouldn't even need the robot suit anymore. Every citizen's every _thought_ would be laid bare and vulnerable to his every whim. Nothing would dominate him. Nothing would control him. _Nothing could hold him back._

The Bud World sign was still in the robot's hands. Bud gestured as if he were raising it up and ramming it into the ground. The robot copied his actions exactly. Bud's smile became a fierce grin of imminent triumph. He lifted his feet and began stomping steadily, irreversibly, towards the only road the bus could've taken out of the Falls. 

_I am coming for you, Stanford Pines._

 

Mabel sat on Soos' couch in her least colorful mumu, her elbows resting on her knees, her head resting on her hands. Soos was playing video games, sitting on the floor with his back resting against the arm chair, lost in his own blissful world of kick-punch-kick. 

She sighed heavily. “Well, this is it, Mabel,” she muttered into her palms. “Rock bottom. No friends, no family, stuck watching Soos defeat Ninja Frog Fighters for the five zillionth time...” 

“YOU WILL NEVER DEFEAT OUR WARRIOR SPIRIT, SLICER!” a ninja frog shouted. The bad guy sneered. 

She picked up a Bud pin from the coffee table, the same one he'd pinned to her chest barely a day ago. She hated to admit it, but it was color-coordinated and went with most of her clothes. “How did you do it, kid?” she asked it. “How are you always one step ahead? Maybe you really are psychic after –”

A sudden blast of ear-piercing noise sliced through Mabel's temple. She slapped a hand over her hearing aid, shouting in pain. 

“Ugh! What keeps _causing_ that?” 

“Causing what?” Soos asked, as he mastered the next level. “Oh, if you're talkin' about that weird smell –”

Mabel gasped, staring at the pin. A crazy idea had burst into her mind. It was nuts – it was loony – it was _definitely_ illegal – but she'd stake her life that she was right! 

“That's it!” she shouted, leaping to her feet. “I KNOW BUD GLEEFUL'S WEAKNESS!” 

“Pretty sure it's stuff on high shelves,” Soos said, but Mabel had already grabbed her fez and was racing out the door. She had to get to her bike and catch up to the bus in time. Summer in Gravity Falls wasn't over yet, not if she had any say in it! 

 

The bus was crawling its way up the cliff. Stan looked up and saw Ford still kneeling backwards on the seat, staring out the window. The look on Ford's face made him wince. He was doing that I'm-not-thinking-about-what-I'm-thinking-about thing he did. 

“Hey, uh, Sixer,” Stan said. “Wanna play a bus game? I still got my slingshot. I could teach you how to aim chewed-up gum wads at the driver's head.” 

“Not right now.” 

“Aw, c'mooon!” Stanley got down on the floor and popped open his suitcase. Immediately a bunch of marbles, crumpled-up dollar bills, and used gum wrappers flew out. He brushed them aside (except the bills, which he stuffed into a pocket). “Okay, let's see what we got...we could play shadow puppets, I got those quilts we made, and a flashlight...oh, how 'bout this lighter?” Stan held it up. He'd won it that time in poker. “Bet we could set the bus on fire! Then it would never leave town! 'Course it'd be kinda hard to hide the fact that we did it, since we're the only ones here...maybe if we had a –”

“Giant robot!” 

“Yeah, sure, a – _what?!_ ” 

“Look!” 

Stan scrambled onto the seat. A massive ten-ton Bud Bot came pounding up the road, like some kind of mega-sized Chuckie doll with pudgy cherub cheeks. It was the same one they'd seen being built outside the Shack, but now it was in fully-functional Death Mode! 

“HALT!” Bud's voice bellowed from the robot. “ _I COMMAND YOU TO HALT!_ ” 

“GAH!” Stan leaped back from the window and they raced to the front of the bus. “Hey bus driver! There's a giant Bud Bot coming towards us!” 

“Oh hi, kids!” 

“ _Ria!_ ” 

Ria glanced over her shoulder. “Don't worry, chiquitos! I've been a bus driver for at least 40 minutes!” She pointed. Her hat read _Bus Driver in Training._ “Let's see, one of these levers is probably a clutch –”

“That one!” Stan said. 

She grabbed it and the bus shot forward, zooming up the side of the cliff and taking hairpin turns so fast they threw sparks when they hit the rail. Stan and Ford grabbed the seats to stay balanced. 

“Hang on, dudes!” Ria shouted. 

The Bud Bot was right behind them. Its chubby little legs were disturbingly fast. It reached out with huge metal arms. It lunged for the bus and Ria swerved out of its grasp. It lunged again and Ria swerved the other way. Ford's grip on the nearest seat came loose and Stan grabbed him by the jacket to keep him from falling. 

“RIA! LOOK OUT!” Ford shouted, pointing. 

Ria looked up and yelled. The Bot had dug its fingers into the road in front of them like the ultimate jail bars. 

“WE'RE GONNA DIIIIIE!” Stan screamed. 

Ria hit the breaks and the bus swung a hard right, fishtailing and spitting gravel. They drove straight through a road-closed sign and up to the very top of the cliff. 

Stanley looked out the window. The road they were on cut up at a 45-degree angle, and it was too narrow for the Bud Bot to fit. It tried to grab them but missed, and they drove around the corner of the cliff and out of sight. 

“Whew,” Stan said, letting go of Ford. “Man, I thought he was gonna –”

“ _Climb the cliff?!_ ” 

“ _WHAT?_ ”

Ford scrambled to a window seat and pressed his cheek against it, Stanley right behind them. The murder-bot was digging its feet into the side of the cliff and climbing up the slope like a ladder. 

Ford swallowed. “He already won, what does he want from us?!” 

The road widened enough for the Bud Bot to fit. It climbed up and ran full-tilt, every step shaking the ground like an earthquake. 

“Wait – the road!” Stan shouted, whipping around. 

Ford gasped. “RIA! _CLIFF!_ ” 

They screamed as Ria slammed on the brakes and swung the wheel as hard as she could. The bus spun a one-eighty and the back half slid straight off the edge of the cliff, hanging unsupported above a quarter-mile drop straight down. Ria hit the gas, but the back wheels spun uselessly. The bus groaned and tilted, threatening to fall.

Stan squeaked. 

They could feel the footsteps of the Bud Bot coming closer and closer. Ford grabbed Stan's shirt and sprinted to the front of the bus, out the door, and straight into the forest. 

“Where are we going?” Stan gasped. 

“Shh! I think I saw something on the way up!” 

Ford let go so they could run single-file through the trees. Stan followed him as they slid down the steep slope, practically sitting so they'd generate enough friction to slow their fall. They hit a small dirt trail and Ford led them down the trail to a small hole burrowed into the side of the cliff. They crawled inside. 

“Okay, gonna be a drop!” he said, and he jumped. Stan listened for the sound so he'd know how far to jump and then followed his brother. 

“What is this? How did you know this was here?” 

“I found it when I was exploring this one cave – c'mon, we gotta run!” 

They grabbed hands in the dark so they wouldn't get separated and ran. The small hole they'd crawled through was a ventilation hole for a long train tunnel. The train tracks continued out of the tunnel and formed a bridge, connecting the two cliffs together. 

Stan stopped for a split second at the mouth of the tunnel. 

“Don't look down, c'mon!” Ford said, tugging him forward. Stanley swallowed and stared at the back of his brother's head. They weren't full-out running now because they had to make sure they stepped right on the tracks or else they'd fall and splatter like pancake batter and – 

“ _Dead end?!_ ” 

Stan looked up and past Ford's head. The other side of the bridge had been boarded up! 

Stan's legs turned to jelly. “Oh, man, what do we do, what do we do?!” 

_THUD._

Stanley screamed as the whole bridge shook. Ford gripped his hand tighter and half-squatted to stay balanced. 

The Bud Bot had landed. 

The giant robot head looked at them, its blank yellow eyes and pink cheeks glowing ominously. Its shadow swallowing the bridge. 

“TELL ME!” Bud's voice bellowed from the robot. Its mouth moved like a giant metal ventriloquist dummy. “WHERE IS JOURNAL NUMBER 1?!” 

The question was so random that for a second Stan forgot his fear. He glanced at Ford, who looked just as confused. “Journal number one?” he repeated. _Wow, for once there's someone more into books than Ford._

The robot stomped towards them and they backed up to the Dead End sign. “DON'T PLAY GAMES WITH ME, BOY!” Bud bellowed, slamming the cliff above them with his fist. 

The impact jarred loose a several massive boulders. Stan shouted and Ford yanked him out of the way. The biggest rock smashed the place right where Stan had been standing. 

“HEY! Watch the merchandise!” Stan shouted up. 

“I don't know what you're talking about!” Ford added angrily, glaring up at Bud. “You took the only journal I ever had! What do you even want with these journals, anyway?” 

Bud reached down and grabbed them with his massive robot hands. Stan yelled and tried to jump out of the way but they caught him around the middle, the thumb cutting into his stomach. He grabbed for Ford's hand, but the robot pulled them apart with crushing ease. Bud held them up in the air.

Stan clung to the robot hand and prayed it wouldn't drop him. White noise roared in his ears. 

“LET GO OF HIM!” Ford bellowed, pounding on Bud's robot hand. 

Bud gave a scathing laugh. “You still think you're some kind of hero?” He turned back towards the first cliff, tossing Ford casually over his shoulder. Stanley screamed, but Ford landed on the top of the second cliff. A second later Stan saw him standing up, rubbing at his head. 

Bud started marching back they way they'd come, heading over the train track bridge, Stanley still struggling in his fingers. 

“Once I find the final journal, I'll rule this town! With YOU BY MY SIDE, LIKE IT OR NOT!” Bud snarled, shaking Stan back and forth. He laughed. 

The fingers squeezed his legs until Stan couldn't feel them, and his fingers scrabbled uselessly against the metal plates. 

“Stanford, help me!” he screamed. 

 

“ _HELP!_ ” 

Ford hovered at the edge of the cliff, watching the massive Bud Bot kidnap his brother. The back of his head throbbed where he'd cracked it on a rock, his nose was bleeding, his heart pounded 198 beats a minute. He looked around frantically. What could he do? What could he use? Knock over a tree for a bridge? Build a catapult?! Nothing would work, he had no tools, what good was he!?

He backed up. Bud's words echoed in his head. 

_Face it, kid. You're nothing without that journal. How you gonna fight back? No muscles, no brains – what're you gonna do, huh? What're you gonna do?_

Ford's mouth quivered. Nothing. His big brain couldn't do anything. He hunched his shoulders and walked slowly into the woods. 

His big brain couldn't do anything. 

_But Stanley could._

In a split second he turned on his heel and went charging right off the edge of the cliff, screaming like an angry manotaur. The Bud Bot heard him, turned, and looked up, its yellow eyes going wide with surprise.

Ford crashed through the right eye lens and straight into the control room, knocking Bud Gleeful flat on the floor. The Bud Bot fell with him, thudding onto the train tracks so hard Ford could feel them give. 

Ford pinned Bud to the floor and raised his fist. “Let go of my brother!” he shouted, and threw punch after punch. The robot head shook them back and forth as Bud's head turned with every hit.

Bud forced Ford back and shoved him down, sitting on his chest, one knee digging into Ford's ribs. “Never!” he shouted. “I finally won this time!” 

Bud pounded Ford's cheek so hard he saw little blinky lights, but Bud was only hitting with one had because he was still holding Stan. Ford struggled and finally slipped out from under him. When Bud lunged again, fist drawn back, Ford calculated the trajectory and caught with one hand right before it hit him. They strained, muscle on muscle. Bud's face broke out in a sweat. 

“Huh –?” 

_BAM!_

Ford grabbed Bud's fist with both his hands and slammed Bud's own face with it. Bud reared back, malice glinting in his eyes, and Ford hit him with the fist, again and again, driving Bud back against the wall. Finally Ford hit him so hard Bud's whole body spun around – and so did the giant robot. 

The sudden inertia knocked Ford off his feet and the two of them spun around the room, yelling and trying to grab hold of something. 

“ _STOP SPINNING!_ ” Ford shouted. Bud opened his mouth to say something and then hit the wall and went twirling all over again. 

The robot's foot hit empty air and it plunged over the bridge. 

Ford screamed as he was sucked out the robot's eye. He tried to catch the broken edges of the lens and missed. He could hear Bud still screaming as the robot dropped away, Stan and Ria were screaming, and Ford was falling after the robot, tumbling helplessly to the valley floor.

The robot hit the ground and exploded, creating a shockwave so powerful that it temporarily slowed Ford's momentum. Searing heat scorched his face and the robot cracked open on the valley floor beneath him, now nothing more than a husk of burning metal. Ford screamed even louder, seconds away from impact, about to turn into high-IQ toast – 

Something caught Ford around the middle and jerked him so hard he almost threw up. 

“Sixer!” 

“ _Stan?!_ ” 

Ford grabbed his brother, looking up. Stanley was slowly lowering them to the ground, one arm around Ford, the other holding the – 

“GRAPPLING HOOK!” Stan shouted. “Told you it would come in handy!” 

Ford laughed, long and hard. 

They touched down on the ground next to the robot. It was still on fire, crackling with electricity. One giant robot finger twitched. It could probably explode or something, but for the moment Ford didn't care. He and Stan were grinning at each other like they'd just won a Nobel Prize (plus cash). 

“Stanley, that was amazing!” he shouted. “You totally saved our lives!”

“Psh, not as amazing as you taking down a killer robot!” Stan punched him and Ford took a step back, laughing. He hit a piece of charred metal and it fell over. Something underneath it caught his eye. 

“Hey, my journal!” He scooped it up and tucked it into his jacket. Now all that would make this day perfect was – 

_Bwoo-BwOOP._

His head jerked up. The cops were arriving, with what looked like half the town and the _Gravity Falls News_ van in tow. Everybody was talking at once.

“Oh, there it is!” 

“Is that the thing that exploded?” 

“What's going on?” 

“What is that?” 

Four more police cars joined the first one. (Ford didn't even know they had more police officers in Gravity Falls.) There was Manly Dan and Valerie from the Diner and Thompson and Aaron Anker with his cameraman...

Suddenly Ford heard a groan. Bud was crawling out from the other eye of the robot, which had lost its lens completely. That weird suit Bud had been wearing was in tatters. He groaned again and pulled a shred of it from his hair (which, amazingly, was still in perfect condition.)

“What does he use for hair gel?” Stan muttered. “Spray-on bulletproof glass or what?” 

The Sheriff and Johnson ran up to Bud, looking worried. Johnson was tall enough to reach him. He pulled him out of the robot and set him gently on the ground. 

“Geez, man, are you okay?” he asked anxiously. 

The Sheriff knelt down. “What happened here, Bud?” 

Bud's eyes went shiny and he clung to the Sheriff. “It was the Pines twins,” he sobbed. “They tried to attack me and then blew up mah statue with dynamite. _Arrest them!_ ” 

“What?!” Ford and Stanley yelped. 

“Officers, he's lying!” Ford said frantically. Johnson took out a pair of handcuffs and dangled them threateningly. 

Bud turned away so the cops wouldn't see his face and smiled maliciously. The Sheriff stood up behind him, looking serious. “Sorry, kids, but we trust Bud. And nothing short of a miracle could ever change our –”

_VrrrrooOOOOMM._

Mabel's sparkly purple motor cycle zoomed into the clearing and nearly crashed into a redwood. She leaped off and unbuckled her helmet, her fez all scrunched up and her hair sticking out wildly. 

“WAIT WAIT STOP EVERYTHING!” she shouted. “I've got something to say!” 

Velasquez groaned. “Not this lady again.” 

She rushed to the front of the crowd, right up next to the robot. “Just wait, listen! You guys all think the Gleefuls are sooo perfect and honest. ' _Oh, I could never tell a lie, I'm Bud Gleeful!'_ ” 

“He's more honest than you,” Johnson said drily. 

“Yeah!” Dan shouted. “And he's psychic, too!” 

“How's _this_ for psychic?! BAM!” She kicked the robot's metal gut and a huge steel plate fell off. “TAKE A GOOD LOOK!” 

They looked. The inside of the robot was some kind of surveillance room, with a cushy star-shaped seat facing a wall of glowing TV screens. Each screen showed a taped recording of the people from town. 

Valerie gasped. “Wait a minute...is that _me?!_ ” 

One screen showed Valerie huddled around a blender at the Diner. “Yes, yes, the secret ingredient for my anti-alien possession wheatgrass, is pure wheatgrass!” 

“And me!” Toby cried. He pointed to a screen showing himself in a doctor's office, lifting his shirt for the doctor to inspect his stomach. 

“I can verify that that birthmark is indeed disgusting,” the doctor said. The on-screen Toby cheered. 

The townsfolk starting pointing out their own tapes with cries of astonishment. Ford could hear the outrage growing in their voices. 

“That's right! These pins are hidden cameras!” Mabel held up a Bud Gleeful pin. As she moved it around to show the crowd, one of the TV screens showed a live feed from the pin. “My hearing aid was pickin' up the feedback. Who's the fraud now?” 

The crowd ripped the Bud pins from their chests and threw them at the ground. Everyone turned and glared at Bud. He giggled nervously, trying to go for the 'I'm so cute and innocent look', but nobody was buying it. 

“Bud, we gave you our _trust,_ ” Johnson said, walking towards him. 

Manly Dan was red with anger. “You _lied to us!_ ” 

Stanley started chanting under his breath, “Ri-ot, ri-ot...” 

Ford nudged him. “Sh!” 

The crowd moved in on Bud. He backed up. “Please, I, uh – it's not what it looks like – _uff_.” His head hit a car. He was trapped and sweating even more than Ford. “W-what're you gonna do with me?” 

Johnson looked up. “Tanya?” he said. 

The blonde wiped her eyes. “Get 'im,” she sniffed. “Get 'im.” 

Bud sweat harder. 

Sheriff Velasquez straightened. “Bud Gleeful, you are under arrest for conspiracy, fraud..and breakin' our hearts.” He paused to wipe the tears from his eyes. “Jonson, the tiny handcuffs.” 

Ford felt a wave of relief sweep through him. People believed them! They finally saw Bud and Mabel for what they were – both con artists, yes, but one of them drew the line at human decency. And it sure wasn't Bud Gleeful. 

“Wait,” Stan said. “Does this mean...” 

Mabel walked quickly to the cop car where Johnson was holding open a door. “Just a minute, officers,” she said. She picked up Bud by the back of his shirt and shook him gently. Bud hissed and tried to claw at her as random stuff fell from his jacket. Ford grabbed Stan and darted through the crowd. They reached her just in time to see her pick up the deed to the Shack. She held it up, smiling. “I believe _this_ belongs to me.” 

Ford was grinning so hard he thought his face would crack. 

The officers stuffed Bud into the car. Bud stuck his head out, but Johnson pushed him firmly back inside. 

“No – hey, watch the hair!” he snapped. Johnson and Velasquez hopped in the front and drove off, with Bud still yelling from the back. “Y'all are sheep! Mindless sheep! Ya need me! I'll be back! My father won't stand for this! You'll hear from our lawyers!” 

Ford barely heard him. Mabel had the deed. Mabel had the deed! _They were staying here!_

“Grauntie Mabel!” Stanley shouted, running up to her and jump straight up. He clamped his arms and legs around her like an overgrown koala. 

“Whoa, kiddo, easy!” she laughed, prying him loose. He climbed to her shoulder and sat there, grinning like he'd just be crowned King of Gravity Falls. “How 'bout you, Ford, you doin' okay?” she asked, reaching out to scrub at his hair. 

“Grauntie Mabel,” he groaned, but he was laughing and he didn't bother trying to brush her away. 

Aaron Anker headed over, cameraman in tow. 

“...there you have it,” he was saying, standing next to them and smiling toothily at the camera. “Local hero Mabel Pines has just exposed Bud Gleeful as a fraud. Anything you'd like to say to the town, Mabel?” 

She grinned and threw her arms wide. “The Mystery Shack is _back_ , baby!” 

 

It took less than a day to to put the Shack back together, mostly because everyone pitched in to help – Mabel, Ria, Manly Dan, Seandra, Fiddleford, Ford, and Stan himself. The Nerd Lab hadn't been broken into (apparently Bud hadn't guessed the password, _Argonaut_ ), so all their tools were still inside. Fiddleford fixed up the wiring in the Shack while Stan and Ria demolished literally everything that had to do with Bud, both inside the Shack and out. They made a giant bonfire on the lawn and told Crazy Chu she could take all the other stuff she could find. She piled all the metal scraps and nails onto a tarp and dragged it off, cackling about a “Seek-and-Destroyer”. Stan made a mental note to steal it when she was finished because it definitely sounded useful for future enemies. 

After Manly Dan had fixed up the roof, everyone went up there and repaired the Mystery Shack sign – except for the S, which they let fall upside-down, since that was practically the Shack's symbol now. Stan wasn't even scared of hanging out up there anymore. After plummeting off a cliff and surviving, it was like his fear of heights had totally evaporated. 

Mabel had been working on restoring the Gift Shop and the Museum. Stanley helped her sew some new taxidermy pun-strosities in time for the Shack to open that evening. Almost everyone in town showed up, milling around and talking and buying stuff. A lot of them even asked Mabel to sign their merchandise. Mabel let Seandra charged a $2 admittance fee at the door and handled the cash register herself. 

Stan found Gompers hiding under the house. He and Fiddleford lured the goat out with some carrots, and then they walked around looking for any Gleeful junk they may have missed and let Gompers chew it to bits. It was both funny and immensely satisfying to watch. 

At the end of the day, Stan and Ford were back in their room – back in their home – with cheeks so sore from smiling Stan was sure they'd get stuck that way. They were unpacking their suitcases. Ford had replaced the painting of a boat above his bed, and Stanley was half-heartedly taping up boxing posters, for once not caring if Gompers tried to chew them (which he totally was). 

“Exactly how much has Gompers eaten, today?” Ford asked, taking his collection of _The Sibling Brothers_ out of his case. “He's not chewing those posters as much as usual.” 

Stanley shrugged. “I dunno. He ate some of Gideon's old suits for us. One of the locals saw us and I charged him five bucks for watching. It was awesome!” 

At that moment, Mabel knocked on the door and stuck her head in, smiling. “You kids settlin' in okay?” she asked. 

“Yep!” Stan said, hopping off his bed. Mabel came over and sat down next to Ford. Stan grinned. “All the suspicious stains I made on the ceiling are still there! And nobody found my collection of stolen compasses that I hid under the floorboard!” 

“Hey, Grauntie Mabel?” Ford took the journal out his jacket and held it in his hands. “Stanley and I have been talking, and I think there's something we should finally tell you.” 

Stanley nodded. It had been weird to think of sharing it with Mabel, since she didn't believe in that stuff anyway, and Ford made such a big deal out of it. But the way she'd saved the day like that, getting the Shack back, Stan thought she'd deserved to know. 

Ford passed the book to Mabel. She started leafing through the pages as he talked, rubbing her chin thoughtfully. 

“This is a journal I found in the woods,” he explained. “It talks about all the crazy stuff that goes on in Gravity Falls. Bud nearly destroyed the whole town trying to find it. I don't know what it means, or who wrote it, but after all we've been through...maybe you should finally know about it.” 

Mabel nodded slowly. “I'm glad you showed me this, Ford.” She shut the book. Then suddenly she burst out laughing – and not the nice kind, either. Stan and Ford frowned. “Now I know where you've been gettin' it all from! 'Spookums' and 'monsters'...” She wiggled her fingers. “This kooky book has been filling your head with crazy conspiracies!” She noogied Ford's head. 

Ford pushed her hand away, angry. “But it's all real!” he protested. 

She was still laughing. “You gotta quit readin' this fantasy stuff, for your own good! Although some of these would make great attractions.” She held up the page with the human-faced squash. “Can't come up with this stuff! Mind if I borrow this?” She got up and headed for the door. 

“Wait, no! Grauntie Mabel!” 

She wasn't listening. “Magic book,” she snickered, walking down the hall. “Ridiculous!” 

“Grauntie Mabel! I need it!” Ford jumped off the bed and started for the door, but Stanley tapped his arm. 

“Sixer, you don't need that book.” He sat back down on his bed. “I mean, did you or did you not just defeat a giant robot with your bare hands? You're a hero whether you've got that book or not.” 

Ford's mouth quirked up in a reluctant smile. “Ha...yeah. Thanks, Stan.” He moved slowly back to his own bed. “I still want it back though.” 

Gompers was now chewing on Stan's sneaker. Stan absently patted its head. “I'm sure you'll get it back,” he told his brother. “What would a boring old lady like Grauntie Mabel want with that book anyway?” 

Ford opened his mouth to answer – and something squirted them right in their faces. 

Ria popped out of a cardboard box, a Nyarf water gun in each hand. 

“RIA!” she announced. 

Stanley grinned and hurled himself at her. “Gimme those!” he laughed, and they chased her out of the room and down the stairs. Stanley grabbed the Nyarf guns and they quickly became embroiled in a watergun-vs-foam-bullet war. 

_Man, it feels good to be home._

 

Later that night, in the dark and quiet, a certain code was punched into the Gift Shop vending machine. Mabel slipped inside, padded softly down the stairs, and typed in the code for the elevator. She kept her robe wrapped tightly around her as she rode it down. She knew the lab so well she could find her way around blindfolded, but she took the lantern from the hook in the wall and lit it. The elevator reached the ground floor and dinged. Mabel stepped out. The lantern cast a soft glow to light her path. She was vibrating with tension and barely-suppressed excitement.

A galaxy of red and blue lights flickered and blinked from the machines against either wall. She walked passed the monitors, the scanners, the cracked dials, the machines with functions so alien that they had no proper name. She sat in the rolling chair and pulled it up to the desk. From here she could see through the glass window and into the Portal Room. She opened the sliding compartment in the top of the desk. It held a row of stolen textbooks on advanced mathematics, quantum physics, cryptography – and a very old book wrapped in worn maroon leather. She took it out and placed it on the desk in front of her, looking down at her reflection and the “1” written in black ink on its surface. 

“Finally,” she whispered. “After all these years...I have them all.” 

She took the other two journals out of her robe with shaking hands. She'd stolen the second journal from Bud Gleeful – shaken it out of him when she was trying to get her deed back, without realizing what he'd have in his jacket. It had taken her all her self-control to keep from shouting and jumping with joy on the spot. And then Ford had shared the third journal that very night. Her eyes shone with tears of joy.

She swallowed them back and opened all three journals to the diagrams of the Portal. She'd been working with the first journal for so long she could decrypt the codes on sight. She found the measurements and instructions written in the margins of the pages and quickly typed them into the control panel, checking them twice to make sure she had it right. 

A subtle hum built in the air. Her skin prickled with static electricity. The Portal itself began to vibrate. As she typed in the last bits of data, the small bulbs around the portal light up with an eerie blue glow. 

“It's working!” 

She leaped to her feet and ran to the Portal Room door, shoving it open. Currents of invisible energy swept through the room. She went for the lever in front of the Portal and shoved it, grunting with exertion. The strange symbols around the center of the portal lit up with aqua light. Lightning shot out of it in wild arcs. For a split second, slim beams of neon-green light criss-crossed the room. The room was suddenly bathed in a pale white glow, coming from the circle in the Portal and two pairs of matching circles on the floor and ceiling. 

Mabel stared up at it. It started to sink in that this was real, that this was _finally happening._ She'd never gotten the Portal to work this far. But it was on, it was working, it was beaming its white light at her like a challenge. A sense of energy surged through her body. She grinned. 

“Here we go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MABEL YOU CAN DO IIIIT! 
> 
> This episode was so fun to do. The conflict! The drama! Honestly it sounds silly but one of my favorite parts is when everyone who works at the Shack pitches in to put it back together. Warm happy fuzzums all around.
> 
> ANYWAY this was the last full episode of Season 2! O M G AMIRIGHT?!?! Short will come as scheduled. Prepare yourselves, guys, it's gonna get intense!


	21. Bud Rises Short

Ford sat in the lab, a lone desk lamp shining down on his work. The circuitry was tricky, but he thought he had it this time. 

He carefully screwed the panel back on, prepped the timer, and pushed the switch at the back. The perpetual motion machine slowly started to rotate. It had a small circular base with a long rod sticking straight up from the center, with two levers attached to the top of the rod. The engine at the base was utterly silent, but as the rod rotated, faster and faster, the levers began to rise. Finally they were completely horizontal, parallel to the surface of the desk. The timer had been going for 00:06:18 seconds by the time he let himself relax. Finally! Wait till Fiddleford saw _this!_

He leaned back and started to laugh – and everything went wrong. 

A blinding light filled the lab in a soundless flash, and a powerful vibration rocked the cement floor. Ford fell out of his chair with a clatter, banging his hip, but he was up in an instant, hurrying to grab the machine before it could break. 

Too late. It hadn't been more than a split-second, but the machine was already creaking and whining. By the time Ford touched it, small streams of black smoke were streaming from the vent at the back of the base. He pried it off and the smell of fried circuits met his nose. Sparks flew out. 

“Aw, geez...” He really might've had it that time, too. 

“WOW, IT EVEN COMES WITH FIREWORKS!” 

Ford jumped and spun around, but the lab was empty. _Oookay,_ he thought. _I'm either hearing things...or I'm dreaming._

The instant the thought occurred to him, walls of the lab dissolved into constellations, so that the desk, the equipment, Stan's car, even his own feet were resting on a starry abyss. 

He turned around. “Hello, Bill.” 

The triangle had shrunk down to the size of a teacup, perched on top of Ford's broken machine. (Geez, even in his sleep he couldn't get it to work.) 

Bill twirled his cane. “HOW YA DOIN', SIXER? YA LOOK GOOD WITHOUT THAT HOLE IN YOUR CHEST! ALTHOUGH YOUR MACHINE HERE COULD USE A LITTLE IMPROVEMENT. AND YOUR FASHION SENSE. AND YOUR BODY ODOR COULD DEFINITELY –”

The tools, furniture, and books fell away so fast they left a flurry of looseleaf paper in their wake. Behind him, Stan's car grew ten times its size, its wheels now the size of kiddie pools. Its grill ripped open to show large silver fangs. The monster truck roared so loud the mindscape vibrated down to the last intellectualized molecule. Bill made a show of hanging on to his hat. 

“WHOA, HEY, EASY! YOU'RE NOT STILL MAD ABOUT THE WHOLE 'STEAL THE OLD LADY'S DEED' THING, ARE YA?”

“What do you think?” Ford said flatly. 

“LOOK, KID, IT WAS JUST A JOB! NO HARD FEELINGS. I'VE BEEN KEEPING AN _EYE_ ON YOU SINCE THEN...AND I MUST SAY I'M IMPRESSED!” 

Ford wasn't swayed. “You _said_ you only inspire one muse a century. What else did you lie about? Hurting the author? Being a muse in the first place? Being an isosceles triangle?!” 

“HEY, THAT'S PERSONAL, KID!” 

“What proof do I have that you are what you say you are?” Ford snapped. The monster truck behind him loomed larger than ever, snapping its silvery teeth. “I saw what you did in Mabel's mind. I bet you were giving her nightmares the whole time you were in there. And don't forget about what you did to Stanley –”

Ford realized his mistake a second too late. Everything in the mindscape became instantly real the moment he thought of it. A huge shadow fell over him and a soft breath of cold, cold air touched his face. Mind-numbing terror poured through his body. Slowly, moving in slow-motion, he looked up. 

Filbrick Pines was so huge only his torso was visible. His massive shoulders, clad in the usual yellow plaid suit, were each as big as a mountain. His square face tilted down to look at Ford, his glasses flashing with fury under the dark brim of his hat. His ruddy cheeks twisted into a snarl. 

“ _BOY,_ ” he boomed, raising his fist. 

Ford's bones turned to jelly. _Wake up_ , he thought desperately. _Wake up, WAKE UP!_

The Monster Stanley-Mobile snarled and revved its engine. It leaped into the air as the fist came down, steel jaws snapping – and then burst apart as the fist went right through it without even slowing down. Broken car parts flew in every direction. The fist was still coming and Ford knew it would crush him flat and he opened his mouth and he screamed – 

And nothing happened. A soft wind touched his face, and that was all. 

Trembling and sweating, Ford forced himself to raise his head. 

Filbrick had turned into a harmless constellation, fading even as he watched into the background of his mindscape. It hadn't touched him, but Ford collapsed anyway, sitting on the glassy black nothingness and trying to catch his breath. Cold chills crawled down his spine like icy caterpillars. 

Bill twirled his cane and adjusted his bowtie. “ALRIGHT KID, AS FUNNY AS THAT WAS, WE'VE GOT SOME BUSINESS TO ATTEND TO.” 

It was an effort to refocus on Bill. “D-don't think this means I trust you,” he said, making an effort to keep his voice steady. He tried to marshal his thoughts but he was afraid Filbrick would come back if he did. “I – I mean you haven't given me any reason to – to trust you –” 

“YOU _DO_ HAVE A FUNCTIONING SHORT-TERM MEMORY, RIGHT?” 

“Of course I do!” he snapped.

“I JUST SAVED YOUR BUTT FROM A NIGHTMARE OF YOUR OWN CREATION. AND DON'T THINK I DIDN'T NOTICE THAT THING WITH THE TOY CAR. YOU THINK STAN CAN PROTECT YOU FROM WHAT'S COMING?”

“I –”

“THINK AGAIN, HOT SHOT. THAT MEATHEAD COULDN'T THINK HIS WAY OUT OF A PAPER BACK.”

“Stanley saved my life!” Ford said hotly. 

“SURE DID! AND NOW YOU'RE RIGHT BACK WHERE YOU STARTED – A TACKY TOURIST SHOP AND A ONE-WAY TICKET BACK HOME IN EXACTLY FOUR WEEKS, TWO DAYS, AND SEVEN HOURS!” 

_Stay focused, stay focused._ “Stan and I can do anything,” Ford said, more firmly than he really believed. “And Fiddleford and I have made great progress with our research –”

“YOU MEAN THANKS TO THE EQUATION _I_ GAVE YOU. HOW'D THAT ARTICLE GO OVER, BY THE WAY?” 

Ford flushed. Tattered images swam past them. After Fiddleford had triple-checked Ford's work, they'd sent it off to six different scholarly magazines for publication. All of them had been returned, unopened, with stamps reading 'Nice try kiddos' and 'Go buy potato clock kits, don't waste our time playing dress-up.' 

The images of the unopened envelopes floated past like a school of fish, followed by a larger memory, this one with sound. Ford had been standing in the parlor of the Mystery Shack when the first letter came back from a journal, begging to be the one to publish “Hirsch's” work. 

“Can't believe this,” the memory-Ford murmured. 

Stanley walked in, randomly whacking furniture with a stick. “Whatsa matter, Sixer? You look like someone just disproved one of your science experiments.” 

“Worse.” Ford held out the letter angrily. “Look at this! Fiddleford and I made a fake identity on the internet like you said. We even used a totally bogus name like Alex Hirsch. Hirsch! It sounds like a knock-off candy bar! And the journals are literally eating it up!”

“And that's...bad?” 

The paper crunched in Ford's fist. “What is the _point_ of being a genius if no one respects you for it?” He stared angrily down at his six fingers. 

Ford tore his eyes from the memory, balling his hands into fists and shoving them into his jacket. 

Bill, however, was practically doubled up like a taco, he was laughing so hard. 

“OH MAN, THAT IS JUST _PRICELESS!_ WHAT WERE YOU GONNA DO IF THEY ASKED YOU TO SHOW UP FOR A NOBEL? STAND ON THE MACKEREL'S SHOULDERS IN A TRENCHCOAT?” 

Ford glared at him. 

Bill caught his breath, wiping a tear from his eye. “OH THAT WAS GOOD, I NEEDED A GOOD LAUGH.” 

“I'm gonna get published under my own name, okay?” Ford scowled. “It's just – gonna be a while.” 

“LET ME GUESS...SOMETHING LIKE THIS?” 

Bill waved a hand. The fabric of the mindscape seemed to condense into a cloud of cotton candy, and an image bloomed in the middle. It showed a grand stage with a huge blue velvet curtain hung behind a podium of polished oak. The current director of Harvard's physics department stood at the mike. 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he boomed. “I would like to present you with this year's Nobel Prize winner...Stanford Filbrick Pines!” 

A young man stepped out from the left side of the stage. He was tall, lean, with glasses settled firmly on a slightly large nose and fluffy hair with wicked-cool sideburns. Ford, aged thirty years, grinned as he stepped up to the center of the stage. A golden trophy was placed in his hands. The director bowed away, and Ford stood beaming as the auditorium thundered with applause. 

Bill squinted. “UGH, I DIDN'T DO THE TRENCH COAT. DID YOU DO THE TRENCH COAT? MUST BE YOU, I HAVE AN ACTUAL SENSE OF STYLE.” 

“Excuse you,” Ford said indignantly. 

“BUT WHY WAIT THIRTY YEARS FOR WHAT YOU CAN HAVE RIGHT NOW?” Bill snapped his fingers, and the Ford in the image was suddenly Ford – the way he was right now, twelve years old, waving his six-fingered hand. The crowd went nuts and started piling more Nobels and models on him. 

Ford folded his arms. “You saw what happened with the scholastic journals. It's not going to happen.” 

“NOT WITH SOMETHING AS PALTRY AS PROVING THE EXISTENCE OF THE MULTIVERSE.” 

He sputtered. “ _That's paltry!?_ You gave me that equation, I'm the one who had to prove it! That was – that was like, Hawking-level work! Hawking plus Einstein!” 

“OBVIOUSLY! KNEW YOU HAD IT IN YOU, FORDSY. AND THERE'S PLENTY MORE WHERE THAT CAME FROM, BELIEVE ME.” The image dissolved into a dark cloud, and Bill reclined in it like it was a fluffy bean bag. “YOU'VE GOT WHAT IT TAKES TO MAKE THE IQ IVY LEAGUES RIGHT NOW. WHY DO YOU THINK I SHOWED UP IN YOUR HEAD AND NOT BUD'S?”

“You showed up in Mabel's head,” Ford pointed out. 

“DETAILS, KID. I TOLD YOU, IT WAS JUST A JOB. GOTTA FOLLOW THEM PESKY SUMMONING RULES, SAME AS I HAVE FOR YOU. BUT THERE'S NOTHING LIKE A GOOD ADVERSARY TO SEE WHAT YOU'RE MADE OF, AND I GOTTA TELL YA, I LIKED WHAT I SAW. YOU'VE GOT BRAINS AND THE GUTS TO GO WITH IT.”

In spite of himself, Ford flushed a little at the praise. 

“BUT HERE'S THE DEAL.” He leaned on his cane and locked eye with Ford. “I'M NOT GONNA KEEP HANGING AROUND FOREVER. THERE'S A LIMIT TO HOW LONG I CAN COME BACK, AND THIS IS IT. IT'S DO OR DIE TIME. ARE YOU GONNA LET ME TAKE YOU TO THE LIMIT OF WHAT YOU CAN DO? ARE YOU GONNA WIN THAT NOBEL AT AGE 13 INSTEAD OF 30? ARE YOU GONNA DEVELOP AN ACTUAL FASHION SENSE? 'CUZ IF NOT, KID, THAT'S FINE WITH ME, BUT THERE'S PLENTY OF OTHER GENIUSES IN THE SEA. I NEED TO GO WHERE THE FISHING'S GOOD.” 

He hesitated. “I don't know...” 

Bill really had been so helpful and supportive – nothing at all like the journal said he was. And that thing with Grauntie Mabel's mind – Bill hadn't done any real harm in there. He'd even taken care to warn Ford when the whole thing started. And that fight at the end – Ford had never done anything like that before. But Bill had known he could do it. Bill believed in him. 

Nobody else had ever treated Ford like that – with total trust, the confidence that Ford could find the solution to an impossible problem. And the problems Bill came up with for him to solve every night, the puzzles, the enigmatic hints at greater and greater mysteries... Not to mention challenging him to prove that incredible equation. It was like Bill understood Ford better than anyone else, even better than Stanley did. Bill knew how much Ford craved a challenge, to prove what he could do, how he wanted so badly to stand shoulder to shoulder with the great men of science and be counted among them – counted for _himself_ , not his fingers. 

Ford was quiet for several moments, thinking. Bill finally sighed and swung his cane, opening a wormhole in the cane's arc. 

“LOOKS LIKE I WAS WRONG ABOUT YOU, IQ. TOO BAD. WELP, SEE YOU IN –”

“Wait.” Ford looked up. He straightened his shoulders. “I accept. I want you to be my muse.” 

Bill narrowed his eye, the wormhole swirling behind him. “YOU SURE YOU KNOW WHAT YOU'RE DOING, KID? ONCE YOU COMMIT, THIS PATH TOWARDS GREATNESS IS GONNA SUCK UP EVERY OUNCE OF FOCUS AND DEDICATION YOU'VE GOT. _EVERY OUNCE._ ” 

“I'm sure.” 

“THIS ISN'T SOMETHING YOU CAN BACK OUT OF A WEEK FROM NOW.”

“I'm sure.” Ford stepped forward. “I want to dedicate my life to science, to discovering the mysteries of the universe. I want to solve problems no one else has even thought of. I want to reach past the stars and come back with diamonds of knowledge clutched in my fists and fling them out into the world with my name on every last one.” 

“WAXING POETIC, ARE WE?” 

Ford met Bill's eye. He could feel his whole future laid out before him, stone by shining stone. He could almost taste the admiration of countless scientists. He could hear Stephen Hawking acknowledging him as the finest mind of his generation. He'd earn so much money he'd never have to go home, and no one would ever call him a freak again. His name would be synonymous with “genius”. And all he needed was Bill's help. 

“Tell me what I have to do.” 

Bill extended his right hand, which burst into bright blue flames. Ford jumped back, startled. 

“JUST LET ME INTO YOUR MIND, STANFORD.”

Ford smiled and reached for Bill's hand. “Then it's a deal. From now until the end of time.” 

The blue flames traveled up Ford's hand and caught on his sleeve, tingling along his skin like a hundred popping bubbles. Ford grinned at him, and Bill smiled his lipless smile back.

“YOU GOT IT, KID. I PROMISE YOU'LL NEVER FEEL ALONE AGAIN.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH! IT HAPPENED IT HAPPENED FORD YOU STUPID GENIUS SOMEONE HELP THIS SMOLL SCIENCE OWL!!!


End file.
